Hallowed Spirits
by Scissorhands
Summary: Harry Potter is a hated monster, abandoned by his parents. Join him, as he struggles with his lack of humanity. AU. HPRV.
1. Prologue

It rained.

However that fact went unnoticed by a young man, seemingly unaffected by a constant downpour. Dressed in midnight blue robes, which cling to his lean frame, he let the raindrops fall onto his unprotected bald head. His skin was unearthly pale, so that blue veins were visible under the skin of his skull. The complete lack of nose, in place of which two serpentine slits were located, seemed to do not affect this man. His eyes were closed, but constantly moving under his eyelids. The man stood proud against another weave of hard rain that passed, unmoving, stilled as a monument of human power over nature. Although quite a few people could argue if he had enough of humanity left in him to be considered human.

The bright lightening flashed somewhere behind a man, and his eyes suddenly opened. The first impression that would come to a mind of any observer would be that electric blue irises strangely stood out of the man's face, but after a few moments of staring in those eyes, said observer would withdraw his former opinion in favor of one, that would complement these strangely enchanting orbs. Those were now left unfocused, as if their owner looked not for something that could be seen with their help.

_Red headed woman with enormous belly walked into room containing two cribs, and several trunks filled with toys, courtesy of soon-to-be-uncles; Remus and Sirius. She groaned at the thought of The Marauders trying to corrupt her sons._

_Her sons._

_With the love and fondness known only to women in blessed state, she rubbed her large stomach. She and James were looking forward to having children. James, she knew, wasn't affected by the fact that as the last Potter, he was supposed to create offspring as soon as possible. He really wanted to have children of his own, and when the news broke that they were having twins, goofy smile was imprinted on his face permanently._

_Lily knew that they deserved some sort of a fairy tale, after all those years of quarrelling with each other. James thought similarly, and she realised that between the two of them, their sons were doomed to be spoiled rotten._

_Their sons._

_She was quite sure about the names she have chosen. Lester and Harold. The names were to be given her sons respectively - Lester for the fist one and Harold for the second one. James was actually quite helpful, providing her with a book which contained most of names given to little wizard and witches. They both agreed on those names, even if it was her who did the actual choosing. But James in his silly "I'll be a father" state wasn't really opposing that much. She knew from the tales of her older friends, that when father is not fully taking part in choosing the names then there may be a possibility that after the birth he would also expect his wife to handle all child-issues. Fortunately her husband was walking-talking contradiction to that rule, reading all those professional parents' magazines, learning along with her how to change nappies, how to feed the little ones and how to be one "James Potter proud father extraordinary". "All for the welfare of my sons"_

_My sons._

_One of whom has to kill or be killed..._

The man's eyes returned to their focus. He turned around to look at the wet and muddy path which he used to come here. The path led straight to his shelter, in which the warm stew awaited for the man. He however uncaring about such trivial matters as food, turned back and again let his eyes go unfocused. But he had no time to recall anything else of any importance to him, before soft white light began to appear at the horizon. His gaze again focused, and hard as steel, the man started to go down the path, just as the white light on horizon began to slowly approach his position. The man mentally cursed his own stupidity and began to run, as light, now clearly visible on the night sky, started to become brighter as distance between it and the running man began to shrink. Said man was moving incredibly fast, at least for someone who ran down the hill in the dark forest, barely avoiding trees, trying not to slip on muddy ground. If the man would take some time to look over his shoulder, he would be most likely blinded by the flying ball of brightness that seemed to move effortlessly between the forest trees.

Desperate not to get caught, the man changed his tactics. His eyes flashed most brilliant shade of blue, as he closed his eyelids. Now, that action would most likely have caused any other man to run into a tree, but the bald man seemed to be doing just fine in his attempts to avoid smashing into large flora specimen. His movements accelerated, and his legs were now a blur moving under his waist. The flying ball of light seemed to fall behind because of the strange man's sudden burst of speed. Apparently sensing something, the man opened his eyes, and noticed a small dugout standing at the foot of the hill. His movements' speed decreased, and man still running quite fast stumbled through the open doors, closing them behind. He quickly waved his hand, and with another flash of light from his eyes, the doors locked themselves. The man relaxed visibly, his shoulders sagging with relief. Just before his eyes went again unfocused, he heard voice (which apparently was supposed to be calm, gentle and relaxing), coming from the flying ball of light:

**This is Ministry of Magic Detection Probe no. 077. Please calmly remain on your positions!**

**  
**

**  
**

_"4:27 pm , 31st of October, 1981 "_

_The gentle voice coming from the wand of heavily pregnant Lily Potter filled the room. Her husband James was still in the antechamber, saying goodbye to his leaving friends. Lily thought that it was quite rude of her not to stay to bid them farewell as well, but she just couldn't stand to be with them at the moment. Although that was not their fault (Lily had to suppress a smile at the thought of The Marauders being not guilty of something), but the fault of that damned prophecy. She kept replaying those damn words in her mind "the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...born to those who have thrice defied him, born at the night of the hallowed spirits...and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born at the night of the hallowed spirits."_

_She had prayed, screamed and cursed the night she along with James had heard those words. She didn't wanted for her child to be forced to bear such a heavy burden. She wanted to just go to sleep and wake up in the world, where the cursed prophecy had never existed. Where she and James could live where they wanted to, without Dumbledore forcing them to live in such a small house. But she knew she would have none of it. Now on the night when the prophecy was about to fulfil, she prayed for the labour to never begin. "Let it be someone else" she said through her clenched teeth. "Someone who will have a strength to help this little child". Now she was sobbing loudly. Loudly enough for James to hear and to immediately come to her_

_"Lils, honey. I.. I know that you find it hard" He said while hugging closely his crying wife "But we must hope. If not for the labour to not come today, then for the well being of our child. Just think! A saviour of Wizarding world - our little boy! Our own flesh and blood will become a man who will vanquish Voldemort! He will have many people almost worshiping him, when the truth about him being The Chosen One comes out._

_He never will have to make hard decisions in his life, he will be provided with most exclusive care both from Dumbledore and Ministry. What else can parent ask for their child?"_

_Her sobbing subdued to only few tears dropping from her eyelashes, Lily now relaxed into her husband's embrace. He was right - what else can mother want for their child than ensured best care? She closed her eyes tightly and swore to always protect her chosen son, and to provide him with everything he desired. At all cost._

_Suddenly, a powerful explosion has shaken the house. James' eyes widened, when protective wards set up by Dumbledore himself went off. Volumes of smoke were raising from the ground level. _

_"It's Him, Lily! Hide! I'll hold him off!" with that her husband ran downstairs. Lily with determination took her wand from the pocket of her robes, when she heard another noise. Shouts and screams were coming from downstairs, and to her own horror, she realised that they were the shouts of her husband. All of sudden it became quiet. Her heart wrenched painfully at the thought of what might have happened to her James, when the doors to the nursery opened. _

_On the doorstep stood tall figure in black robes. His serpentine eyes narrowed at the sight of pregnant Lily Potter. Facial expression of Lord Voldemort became one of pure hate. Without any other word, he raised his wand, aiming at young women's abdomen, and shouted, his voice filled with malice._

_"Avada Kedavra!!"_

_Sickly green ray of death shot in direction of pregnant woman. She tried to duck, but her mobility was rather limited. The spell hit her in the stomach._

_Or would have hit, had it not been for golden dome appearing in front of young woman's belly. Dark Lord clearly not expecting this, for he stood frozen in place. Which soon became the death of him as the spell rebounded back at the most powerful dark wizard in existence. His eyes had a fragment of second to widen, before the Dark Lord struck by his own spell, have fallen, his body quickly vanishing into the wisps of smoke._

_Lily stood horror-struck. She was prepared to join her husband in the land of the dead! Not fully understanding what have happened, she gaped at now empty black robes lying under the doors of her nursery. That was before she heard moaning downstairs._

_"James!" she cried, quickly gathering her strength and swiftly, or as swiftly as pregnant woman can move, she came downstairs. Their salon was in the state of complete demolition, but she couldn't care less. There on the cluster of some rubble was her husband. Alive! She came to his side, knelt by him and pointed her wand at him. _

_"Enervate"_

_Her husband jerked into consciousness, his eyes falling on his wife. His eyes widened with joy of seeing her alive. The two didn't have any words to express how they were feeling. Quick embrace later, James supported by his wife stood up, looked around at the destruction of his house. _

_"How we survived? That was Voldemort! We shouldn't be even standing here! Where is he now?"_

_Lily as fast as she could related his story to her husband. He was staring at her with a wide eyes, but in this deep pools of brown she could see one barely hidden emotion. Pride._

_Lily smiled sweetly at her husband who immediately embraced her and kissed her fully. Just as she saw the Order members walking into the house, with Dumbledore on lead, she felt excruciating pain in her stomach and stumbled into James' arms, barely conscious._

Sitting on his dirty bed in his dugout, the man breathed heavily. He stretched his arms, falling onto his tattered sheets. He relaxed a little, allowing his breathing to calm and slow down. Once more he cursed his own stupidity. Quickly he stood up, and reached under the bed. He pulled out old, apparently broken trunk, which apparently held all of man's earthly possessions. He then proceeded to pack al his robes and normal clothes into small backpack. His moves were fast and precise. Almost in no time the man was packed. He sighed loudly once again falling onto his bed, removing his clothes, closing his eyes and allowing himself a few moments of needed sleep. He was sure, that they will be here soon. And because "soon" is rather vague description of time, the amount of time that the man would spend asleep was also rather vague. Not to his liking.

_Cries of pain filled the room. Midwife Stonewell ordered everyone to leave. Only Dumbledore and the Potters remained. Everyone else left to spread the news of Voldemort's downfall. Even Mad Eye grudgingly trotted off._

_"Now, that was something worth seeing" mused one Albus Dumbledore "Not every day you could see Alastor being ordered around by a medi-witch"_

_His thoughts were interrupted by another cry of pain. Lily went into labour as Order members arrived, and while listening to the story told by James, he quickly sent for Potter family midwife. Now three hours into labour, Albus could not think of anything else, but the savior of the Wizarding world in the person of one of the Potter's sons. He was trying to think of a way in which they could determine which of the Potter twins was indeed so unique, that he created shield that protected him and his brother along with their mother. He was sure that Lily herself was not the person who conjured such a shield. She was unbelievably skilled with charms, but her defensive skills, while above average, were not sufficient enough to provide her with a way to protect both her and her children. Not being able to think of any magical test that would determine which brother performed such a extraordinary feat of power, the old headmaster resigned himself to the idea of checking the children when they were born._

_In the other room Potters and the midwife were preparing for the arrival of the twins. Contractions grew both in frequency and strength. Soaked in sweat Lily was squeezing James' hand in her own, almost breaking his fingers. To his credit, he hadn't cried in pain yet, either because of anticipation that occluded his own pain, or for sake of his wife which needed support. Meanwhile the midwife was bustling around, conjuring strange instruments, casting monitoring spells and giving Lily pain relieving potions. When the contractions became separated by only few seconds she said:_

_"Lily, on the next contractions I want you to push. Ok?"_

_Lily not capable of any form of answer only blinked once. When the next contraction hit, she squeezed both her abdominal muscles and James' hand. Due to the muscle relaxing potions, wizarding births were not as painful as muggle ones, which Lily was thankful for, when her first son entered this world. His cries filled the room mixing with Lily's panting._

_"Lester Roland Potter" whispered James to his exhausted wife. James took his firstborn son, and looked at spitting image of himself as a baby. The same black hair, the same face. Only his eyes, emerald green were the reflection of his mother in him. Lily had tears of pain in her eyes, but felt nonetheless proud. She sniffed, and let James clean her face with cleaning spell. when next contraction hit, Lily was unprepared for the pain. She screamed loudly, and one look at midwife's face told her that something was not all right. Said midwife hesitated a little before saying:_

_"There is nothing to worry about. Harry James Potter will come into this world" she smiled reassuringly at Lily, and when the next contraction came she ordered to push._

_That little part of her mind that was not screaming in pain noticed the difference in giving birth to her second son. Something was off. And when the pain ended, ensuing silence confirmed Lily's thoughts. _

_The horror in the eyes of medi-witch frightened Lily greatly._

_"What's happening" she whispered, her throat hoarse from all the cries._

_The look of fear, and.. "was it disgust" on James' face had done nothing to reassure her. Midwife Stonewell almost mechanically handed Lily ..._

... the pile of pale flesh. That's the way they described him. Never having an ounce of baby fat, right after his birth he lacked the chubbiness of a newborn. His bones and ribs clearly visible through his skin, his hands bony and spidery, and not with little fat fingers his parents expected. Instead of slightly upturned cute baby nose he had serpentine slits. Instead of either his father brown or his mother green eyes, his were the most revolting eyes little baby could have. He was a monster. Or maybe one should say, that his parents refused to believe otherwise. Not that anyone disagreed with them. Instead of fairy tale they had horrid nightmare. But not for long of course. They wouldn't want to let others know what kind of freak their son was. Ms. Stonewell was obliviated. Harry Potter was declared stillborn. But he still lived for a few days in the crib, which was transported into most isolated room in the Potter manor to which his "family" moved after the defeat of Voldemort. He was allowed to exist, without food and drink, surviving only thanks to nutrient charm reluctantly casted on him by his mother. He was allowed to exist few days. No more. After all which family would like to take care of spawn of Voldemort.

_"James, will you do that?"_

_"Do I have to now?"_

_"If you would like to"_

_He sighted_

_"Yes, I'd like to"_

_Lone man with a stroller walked slowly on the outskirts of some small town. He left the stroller just for a while, to go into a shop. He "really" hadn't been expecting it to take so long. Apparently the stroller rolled down, into the river. Police searched the river looking for small body. None was found. James Potter with clear conscience apparated to his wife and son, for late supper._

Harry woke up. Stretched. Looked around. Found the backpack. Hurried out of the dugout, before they could find him. They were searching for Voldemort. They found him. Clearly, they didn't noticed any difference.


	2. 1 Being Lord Voldemort

Disclaimer: I forgot to write this. If Harry Potter was mine, then it would have never been published because of bad quality, crappy ideas or something else. So be happy it belongs to J.K.Roling.

Thanks for the reviews. And I already know DLP - my nick there is Trade Mark Riddler.

Chapter 1

Being Lord Voldemort

12th July, 1997

Charles Piggers was definitely not having a good afternoon. His boss, Mr. Geddels ordered him to look over all the reports. Usually working in Department of Magical Law Enforcement was an easy job, but having to

re-check all of You-Know-Who's reported sightings, was not something that could be done in few hours, or even in few days. Fortunately it was not his job, or at least not until now The sheer amount of detection probes scanning territory of Britain and some of the European coastlines, combined with the number of photos each one of them would take, was not something one would enjoy to have to check. Also, there was a problem of somewhat "disturbed" sensitivity, which caused the probes to capture the photos of almost anything - from funny looking tree formations to any small wisps of smoke. At the moment he would like nothing else, but to fill complaint form, and have it sent to developers of "oh-so-wonderful" searching devices. Not that his whining would be given any thought by those on higher positions. They will, for the sake of magical community, pretend that their probes are working just fine, even if someone just like him will have to do enormous amount of work because of it.

"_Aaahh, the rules of politics. One may actually wonder if Albus Dumbledore and The Boy Who Lived have no better things to do, but to try and find a villain who was killed almost sixteen years ago_" thought Charles while flicking through the files "_I mean, couldn't they just admit, that he was really killed, and be happy. It's not that everyone is just waiting for the news of His return. People had moved on, forgotten about it, and there is nothing else to be said, done or shown..."_

Young man furrowed his brows. The file he currently held was much more thicker than any of those previously checked. He opened it. His eyes were greeted with a wonderful picture of a dark forest. The second photo showed the same, only from another angle, the third one almost the same.. After some time he got bored. He tossed all the photos on his desk, and reached for a cup of tea, he had left on his right. Wonderful, warm liquid tasted good, and for a moment Charles allowed himself to close his eyes and feel relaxed. And he really felt relaxed...

That was, until his eyes opened, and his gaze has fallen upon one certain picture.

His wonderful Earl Gray went flying from his mouth in not-so-wonderful spray, that has covered most of his desk. Usually that would have caused him to curse and splutter, before reaching for his documents, and saving what he could, from soaking in herbal concoction mixed with his own spit. But now.. Now he could only stare in disbelief.

"_What's going on Piggy?" _asked in a teasing tone a very feminine voice "_Your tea to hot? Or maybe to strong? I was always saying that you would never fully appreciate the taste..._"

The voice belonging to his co-worker Veronica Rogers, seemed to finally help young man to recover from his bewilderment. Not sparing the girl even single glance, he grabbed the photo that was the cause of his dismay, and without any word ran out of his cubicle, straight to his boss.

The headmaster's office in Hogwarts was a very cozy place. Albus Dumbledore prided himself with it, and was rather happy, that he didn't have to leave his school in search for that "homey" feeling. His ancestral mansion stood empty, maintained only by a few house elves, thus allowing headmaster to concentrate on his real passion. Educating countless generations of young wizards and witches. Headmaster knew, that in the upcoming years, the quality of magical knowledge learned by those young people would be put to a test, when Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort would rise again. He only hoped that it wasn't to soon. Of course he had immense help in person of Lester Potter, who after the events of Halloween in 1981 was dubbed "The Boy Who Lived". Young Lester was his pride, being allowed to become Assistant Professor at the tender age of fifteen. This boy had took after both his father and mother - he was greatly skilled in Charms and Transfiguration, but his greatest forte were his Defence against the Dark Arts' skills. Being tutored by his father from his earliest years, the boy would be a most important player in the coming conflict. Albus had known from the moment the prophecy was uttered by one Sybill Trelawney, that it wouldn't be his task to defeat the Dark Lord. He would however aid young Potter as much as he could in fulfilling his destiny.

The thoughts of old headmaster were however cut off, when the green fire erupted from his heavily warded fireplace. Which informed him, that it was Minister Fudge, who would be in a moment either sticking his head in his fireplace or falling out from it. The minister would take the first option if he was only interested in taking advice from wise old man, whereas he would risk being covered in soot from head to toe, only when he had to talk to headmaster in person and it was a matter of great importance. The knowledge of Fudge's habits, caused Dumbledore to frown, when he saw that the highest ministry official was currently lying on the floor in front of his fireplace. With the flick of his wand, he removed any traces of dirt from ministers' attire and helped him from the ground.

_"Thank you Albus"_ muttered slightly embarrassed Fudge _"I came to you with my" _he emphasised the last word "_latest discovery_".

He then promptly began to fumble in his robes. Albus meanwhile wondered, what could have happened to deprive Fudge of his usual pompous attitude. It was surely something terrible enough, for Fudge to be acting the way he was acting. Albus noticed, that the minister's hands trembled slightly when he was handing him a very bright violet envelope, which the headmaster slowly opened to reveal a moving photograph. It was a picture of a dark forest, that much headmaster could tell without his _special _spectacles. The picture was of none importance at the first look. However one may say that the importance of the photo rocketed sky high, when from beyond white frame came running a man.

_"No" _thought Albus _"Not a normal man. Tom Marvolo Riddle. Lord Voldemort. He has returned"_ Headmasters face paled. He was aware that while Lester Potter was surely not your average teenage wizard, and he possessed skills which his peers certainly did not have, he was still no match for the renewed power of Voldemort. Now his only course of action would be to hope that Voldemort was still not at his highest and mightiest. He knew that with help of all those advisors he placed in Fudge's office the minister would take the best course of action. He believed that the poor man in front of him was capable of at least ordering the Unpeakables to search the area in which the photo was taken, and informing the press of this discovery. With the help of every witch and wizard they could locate the Dark Lord faster, and with use of adequate force banish him again, until it was Lester's time to finally end Voldemort's life.

The crestfallen look on headmasters face did nothing to help the trembling minister. The man's bowler hat almost fell from his head when Albus handed the photo back to him.

_"I believe you know what is the best course of action, Cornelius?" _said Albus rising his eyebrows slightly.

Cornelius Fudge he knew, would be moaning for a long time before grudgingly accepting the suggestion from the old wizard. But the news must have hit him so hard that he only nodded with resignation, before he left the same way he arrived, again in a bright flash of green flames, leaving Headmaster alone. The old man stood still for a moment, before turning around and facing the perch on which his phoenix friend was resting. Sad blue eyes met beady black ones. The phoenix only chirped silently, before hiding his head under his wing, apparently not willing to help his master with his problems. Albus sighed softly, before turning to his desk, which apart from few documents was covered mostly by some of his silver trinkets. Among them two small crystal balls were placed. One of them was emitting a soft red light, while the other was devoid of any of it.

Only he and two others knew what was the purpose of those two devices. Almost sixteen years ago he suggested casting magic level monitoring spells on unborn children to James and Lily. Those spells were later connected to those two balls. They indicated magic level of person they were connected to. Unfortunately they weren't showing the actual level of magical power, but the current level of magical power in proportion to overall level of it. The fainter the glow, the lower levels of magic were currently in the monitored person. When the glow ceased to exist it meant that the person connected to the ball was dead. Harry Potter's ball was not emitting any glow, so it was safe to assume that the only other person looking like Lord Voldemort was dead. Of course if someone was new to the idea of magic level monitoring spells, they could ask what would happen if person connected to the ball was in fact a muggle. However headmaster knew that the only flaw of this spell was that it was not applicable to muggles, therefore there was no chance for the man in a forest to be someone other than Lord Voldemort. But that did nothing to improve the headmaster's mood. He knew he had to visit the Potters today, and that this visit was not likely to proceed calmly. Lily's overprotective attitude toward her son was sometimes hard to stand and connected with Lester's disregard for any rules set out for him for his own safety, and his overconfidence, was sure to result in full blown family fight, which Albus was not looking forward to. Bracing himself he reached for some of the Floo powder and tossed it into his fireplace, at the same time saying:

_"Potter's Residence. Godric's Hollow 16"_

13th July, 1997

Sweat ran down his forehead.

He failed to notice.

Frankly, any person who was forced to run and hide from their death would fail to notice.

Harry Potter was no stranger to the concept of hiding. He lived in the various forests scattered across British isles since the declaration of "The Constant Monitoring Decree", nearly fifteen years ago. One could ask how it was possible for one year old child to travel even one mile, let alone to wander around the whole country. But given how Harry Potter was by no means a normal child .. yes it was possible.

Of course living and growing in wilderness did wonders for one's social skills. He was equipped with wide range of various growls, howls, gurgles and many other guttural sounds. His bastion of clear thought was his mind. It wasn't dim-witted, feral and inhuman. It was his only quality he prided himself with. And it was the only thing that kept him alive. Well... that and fast legs.

_Cold autumn air filled his lungs. His young body wasn't supposed to be exposed for to long in such conditions. Or so his parents thought. His mind was filled with strange terms and ideas, none of which should be present in the mind of a newborn. After all, which toddler is capable of memorising or even knowing such term as "regional heterothermy"? On that account which newborn is capable of knowing if he should or should not possess certain amount of knowledge? That was certainly strange. But with no one but himself to investigate, the possibility of answering any of this questions was nonexistent. Until recently he was accompanied by this tall black haired man. Maybe he would know the answers? Another barrage of words such as "father", "neglect"and "betrayal" filled his little head. Still not used to the concept of having developed any kind of mental ability at the age of several days, young Harry rose from his stroller. Again that part of his mind told him that he was not supposed to even manage to sit. However the other part willed his motor functions to start functioning a little prematurely. Little body clad only in pink rompers, slowly began to move. Again it was strange. Part of himself knew what to do, but the other part insisted that it was too soon, whining childishly about consequences. _

_His little feet, with some difficulties carried him from the bank of the creek, through the forest undergrowth, and into a small burrow, which seemed safe enough. It was filled with stockpile of meat and bones. "A fitting meal for a young specimen such as yourself" his mind insisted like a father speaking to a child. He wanted to disagree, but overwhelming hunger was irresistible. His small hand reached for a piece of food. He didn't have a teeth, but it hasn't occurred to him before he inserted a piece of meat in his tiny mouth. He started sucking, hoping that any nourishing elements would be transferred to him in that way. Part of his mind was revolted with what he was doing, but soon enough it was silenced, when the hunger intensified. He started to struggle to swallow that piece of food, seeing as sucking and attempted chewing wasn't accomplishing anything. When the meat finally landed in his stomach, he relaxed. Fighting the weave of nausea, combined with the gag reflex would be hard for any newborn. But he was an amazingly strong willed newborn. _

"Living beyond normal boundaries of society surely has its perks" thought young Potter when a newspaper which until recently was lying on top of a trashcan next to him, came flying to his outstretched hand. Stains from ketchup, rotten food and pretty everything else covered the pages of _The Times_, but it was of no importance. To Harry information was knowledge, knowledge was power, and power was something he needed to survive. Surely his pride can suffer being seen with this dirty rag.

"At least it is an improvement from a state, when just being seen can make not only your pride suffer."

And improvement it was. It was not that hard to steal a hoodie and the pair of jeans. He was used to stealing things when he was in need of something. Now when he was chased by almost half of the ministry it was logical to seek shelter in more urbanised part of the country. Scanning Probes were hidden beneath standard set of anti-muggle charms, so that "normal" habitants of the area didn't noticed or heard them. But still it was uncommon to send them to large agglomerations, for which he was grateful. With his hood up and neckerchief covering lower part of his face, he was now hard to distinguish from any other rebel teenager in that part of London.

He was skimming through the newspaper walking slowly. Muggle news weren't what he was desperately to know now, but it was news nonetheless. He would have to wait, until he could make an attempt to find today's edition of The Daily Prophet. He needed to know to what extent the Ministry was depleting it's resources in search of...

**Reborn You-Know-Who!!**

That headline captured his attention. Big bold letter were clearly visible on a newspaper, which some young man in his early twenties, carried under his arm. Harry seizing the occasion followed this man into secluded alley, from which he was surely trying to apparate. He would have done it, had Harry given him a chance. With a quick weave of his hand he sent a broken trunk, which someone threw out here, flying into the man's head. The man clearly unprepared for that kind of occurrence was knocked out, giving Harry an opportunity to take The Daily Prophet, and flee from the site before the man woke up. He swiftly ran through various alleys and streets, into one of his hiding places. He established four of them upon his arrival to London week ago. This hideout consisted of the small amount of space between a badly constructed walls, a simple blanket and a few carton boxes. It was where he spent the last night, so he would be moving to another place this evening. But not before he will be finished with his required reading. He looked at the first page of today's edition. Big, black and white photo of a dark forest in which he encountered the scanning probe. The blurry silhouette of himself running from the device, his robes billowing behind him in a dramatic way so familiar to the readers of this rag that is called the wizarding world's first and most prestigious newspaper. Beneath the photo big letters supposed to attract attention. As if the headline's content was not attention capturing enough.

**Reborn You-Know-Who!!**

By Rita Skeeter

In an official announcement released from the office of Minister Cornelius Fudge, the minister himself brought to our attention the matter of You-Know-Who's return. Apparently the scanning probes after all succeeded in their quest of finding the most famous dark wizard since Grindelwald. And they found him alive. Over the course of last fifteen years the probes - the invention of Albus Dumbledore himself were criticised and were thought to be an ineffective and budget draining experiment. However in the light of recent discovery of You-Know-Who's return, "the probes will be manufactured on bigger scale, and will cover every inch of our country in their search of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." reports Percival Weasley the Minister's Junior Undersecretary. 

The security of public wizarding areas will be provided. Ten aurors contingents will be disposed in the most populated areas in Great Britain. Additionally several squads of Unspeakables are rumoured to be located in most crowded places of wizarding London. The head of DMLE Madame Bones assured our reporter that aurors stationed in public areas will not be noticeable, and certainly they will not be abusing their privileges, harassing innocent witches and wizards the way it was rumoured to happen during the First War. 

Our redaction would like to know what kind of action we may expect from two most prominent figures of Wizarding Britain, crucial in defeating You-Know-Who for the first time. Both Headmaster Albus Dumbledore and The Boy Who Lived Lester Potter refused making any statements. It is unclear if they do not wish to help in that matter or if they do not know what to do. Such a attitude from two persons who insisted that 

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is at large and in hiding, and must be dealt with is inexcusable.

Meanwhile, the Ministry of Magic offered the prize in the amount of 1000 galleons to any witch or wizard, who will be helpful in finding You-Know-Who's whereabouts. But will it be enough? Does the Ministry wants to risk lives of innocent witches and wizards in the futile quest of finding the most powerful dark wizard since Grindelwald?

Harry leaned his back against the wall. His forehead puckered in concentration, his fingertips massaging his temples. Leaving the newspaper on one of the boxes, he stood up, and left for the night in another hideout. And with that much food for thought that the newspaper provided him with it wouldn't be a night spent on sleeping.


	3. 2 Eeny, meanie, miny, moe

Chapter 2

Eeny, meanie, miny, moe ..

_Duck_! - his mind screamed. Young man dodged to the right, before waving his wand in the direction from which the yellow beam of light, that almost hit him, came.

**Percuttio!- **he carefully pronounced.

Purple-ish ray of light left his own wand, barely missing his adversary, and striking the wall behind him, showering his opponent's back in small pieces of debris.

Said opponent cursed, and swiftly moved toward him, simultaneously throwing a silent curse at him. Silvery beam of light was about to shatter on his quickly erected shield, but before it came to that, the spell split. Now, two silvery streams of energy were slowly circling him, like hunting predators. He knew this spell. If he were to move in any way, both streams would sped toward him, and strike him with crushing force, from two various directions, completely preventing him from shielding himself from both of them. His opponent knew it very well, hence his movements toward him. He was almost completely and utterly screwed.

His adversary, was about to tackle him to the ground, and therefore trigger spell's movement detector, when young man has reacted. As swiftly as possible he waved his wand, raising a shield. But only a shield behind his back, which was now absorbed by forceful strike of the spell.The second silver stream shot rapidly at him, and before he was able to react, it hit him in the chest. Just as he expected he was thrown back as powerful force of spell slammed into him. He flew at least twenty five feet before he hit the ground with loud 'thud'. He decided that laying here for a moment would suffice to 'heal' his bruised backside, and was about to rise after a while from his now slightly less hurting back, when the red beam of light hit him, before he could react, disarming him instantly. His opponent's brown eyes narrowed at him, showing a certain amount of annoyance.

_And was it pride_? - thought one Lester Potter, The Boy Who Lived, before darkness encircled him.

James Potter stared at his son's fallen form. He was proud of his son, there was no doubt of it. But why the hell this young man thought, that after his brilliant plan of escaping, his father's clever use of _Uter Contero _curse, he was allowed to lay on his back with content and do nothing for almost five seconds?! That amount of time on his back would have done him no harm in class environment, but he wasn't preparing for a Defence test, but for a battle with a certain powerful, deadly and now according to Albus quite alive Dark Lord! He remembered the night when old headmaster visited his house with those grave news. Oh, the screams of his wife and her favourite hexes flying in the air! The sight of mighty Albus Dumbledore ducking behind a bookshelf to save himself from being jinxed was something to be remembered. Lily's temper began to flare as soon as she heard what was expected from her son, now that Voldemort returned.

James sighed. Voldemort was now an irrelevant problem. His own wife would surely have his head if she would discover what exactly were her husband and son doing, when she was at work. He repeatedly had tried to explain to her, why their son was supposed to train with such a ferocity. She remained adamant in her opinion, and would only allow sparring and duelling between her son and his tutors, while she was present. She also threatened him to withdraw his certain marital privileges if he was ever to train Lester without her in the same room. The prospect of being denied access to their bedroom, let alone access to whatever was under his wife's nightgown, caused him to become a little twitchy whenever he was practicing with Lester.

_It is not that we are doing a real piece of duelling - _Thought the older Potter. And it was truth. While his son was in no way on his peers' level (as he was ahead of them) he still needed to free his mind from the classroom patterns of duelling. He expected his opponent to congratulate him whenever he performed an advanced maneuver, and that wasn't a way to win a duel in a real battle. In a war, which with the return of Voldemort was surely ahead. James had sworn that he would drill the concept of a real fighting into his son's head, even if he himself was to be stripped from his husbandly duties.

He approached Lester, and cast a few medical charms on him, checking for serious injuries. Two broken ribs, that's all he had found. He was sure that if Lily knew she would not only banish him from their bedroom, but also break three ribs in his body for every one broken rib in her son's 'little frame'. Casting a quick bone mending charm, followed by _Enervate_, he began to rant at his son, who promptly became interested in his own training shoes, muttering something like '_I know already, ok_?' under his breath. James seeing that his lecture had little to no effect, resumed training, hoping that repeated defeats would lead his son to draw some conclusions.

* * *

Two hours later, Lester Potter was laying on his queen size bed, in his room. He was still sore from the numerous times he had been either hit with a spell or slammed into a wall. His father became rather devoted to the idea of throwing him around the training room. Sure, he knew that all this was probably for his own good, but he couldn't stop wondering if his father was not becoming a little paranoid. He was able to win a duel with every Hogwarts student, even with those from seventh year. He understood the importance of what his father was trying to teach him, but he was also sure that when the battle situation would arise, he would be able to fully adapt to the conditions of battlefield. It was pointless to be trying to imitate battle conditions in his own house.

_Well, except the situations when mum and dad are quarrelling_ - thought young Potter with a smile.

He was thankful and proud that he had so devoted, caring and loving parents. When he was a child, they were always present for him if he was in need. They were constantly quarrelling with each other, but he knew that it was one of their favourite hobbies, aside from quidditch and pranks for dad, and reading for mum. And speaking of hobbies, his favourite pastime while at home was to read his owl post. As a very important figure of Wizarding World he was constantly receiving mail. Every day, five or six letters would be delivered to him, having gotten through security controlling charm that professor Dumbledore had erected around their house. Otherwise Godric's Hollow 16 residence would have been covered in letters, most of which would be pure fanmail, usual marriage offers, knickers deliveries or other indecent proposals from 'young', 'once young' or 'not so young anymore' witches (and sometimes wizards) of whole Wizarding Britain.

_Thankfully_ - mused Lester, browsing through today's letters - _There aren't any mail coming from that annoying girl anymore. Who knows what she was thinking sending all those singing, humming, dancing and even worse - vibrating - letters. Romilda V-something.. Vein was it? Downright ugly that one - _thought young man with contempt - _Good thing Ginny taught her something_.

He smiled at the memory of his rather possessive girlfriend hexing living daylights out of that girl. She was known for having a major crush on him, one even rivalling the one his Ginny once had on him. Romilda however was quite insisting on developing relationship with him. One that he would like not to even think about.

_Honestly, what was she thinking. Attempting to lace my food with love potion. It's sheer luck, that Hermione was able to see right through that little bugger's machinations -_ he thought, referring to the incident which took place after the Christmas holidays in his fifth year, the girl's fourth. Romilda was caught trying to add a small amount of mild love potion to his favourite salad. At the time he was not dating Ginny, but their relationship was developing from friendship they possessed. Apparently young girl saw that it was her last chance to do something, so she did. Which resulted in the Gryffindor losing almost two hundred points, Romilda receiving two months of detentions with Filch and being constantly harassed by Lester's friends. When he and Ginny started dating, the young Weasley took it upon herself to make sure, that the slightly rotund girl's life was not at all pleasant. Traumatic as it was for Romilda it was also very effective. Usually bothersome girl became not noticeable. And Lester gained more time for himself, his friend and most importantly for his new girlfriend, whom he became very fond of. Both of them knew the risk of her being close to him, but they were willing to take them. Lester, because long lasting relationship was a nice change from all those girls who wanted to date him, and Ginny, because she had what she always wanted to have. Lester smiled again. At first he thought that dating Ginny would be very time and energy consuming, and it was. But every time he had done something for her, and she smiled in thanks he knew that it was worth it. He knew he was to young to be thinking about love, but over the course of their dating time he began to slowly realize, that maybe.. just maybe he was falling in love with her.

With all thoughts of Romilda 'Vein' Vane off his mind, he sat at his desk and began to write a letter to his girlfriend. He had already sent letters to Ron, Hermione and Neville yesterday, and Hedwig, his owl hadn't returned yet, so he would have to wait before sending this letter. Not that he was worried, he and Ginny grow accustomed to writing long love letters filled with confusing a.k.a. romantic babble which both of them thought to be silly. But they played along, filling their letters with "my sweet sunshine's eyes" and "charming, pouty lips". Lester had to admit that they were silly, but they couldn't help it. After all this is the age when you are supposed to be a little silly, even if you have all Wizarding World's expectations on you shoulders.

* * *

Harry watched, sitting in the far corner, as people were praying with the priest. Churches were one of his favourite places. He wasn't sure if he believed in God, but just being here with all those praying people was calming to him. The full knowledge or even only slight belief that there was almighty being that would take care of him if he was to depart from this world. It was.. nice and comforting. But was he even christened? Was he taken care of? He wasn't, but he wasn't about to blame God for that. He blamed his parents. Oh, he knew about the circumstances that led them to abandoning him. He knew all about Voldemort, his attack on his parents, and fear with which all witches and wizards spoke of the Dark Lord. But was the fear, the uncertainty, the disgust of finding your son to be miniature replica of Voldemort enough for his parents to condemn him to death? For Christ's sake - he was a baby. He may have been different in looks department but they hadn't even given him a chance to grow, and maybe develop like a normal baby. Were they ashamed of having a son like him? Were they afraid of responsibility of raising him? He supposed asking himself those questions was pointless, for answers could only be given by his parents, and he wasn't about to go and meet them. Even if he was willing to meet with them, there was also an issue of hundreds of aurors running around London, and he supposed, a similar amount of them guarding his parents' house.

So here he was in one of his hiding places. One of the priests kindly offered him a place to stay. The muggle was surprised by his appearance, but wasn't asking any questions. Maybe he was thinking that he was one of those people like 'lizard-man' or 'fish-woman' who like to disfigure their body by muggle means in some kind of sick art? But that was of no importance - he provided him with shelter and even from time to time with some decent 'civilised' food. Aristocratic Purebloods could wonder whatever pizza could be considered civilised enough for them to eat, but for Harry, who often lived only on remains from thrash bins it was a feast and nutritive blessing all rolled into one. He of course had to appear as a mute person, only writing on a piece of paper to communicate with the priest. He wasn't about to growl or do something considered feral in the presence of his host, who had enough problems with hiding his presence prom his own superiors.

While he was thankful for the place to stay, he wasn't about to stay too long. On that count he wasn't about to stay long in any of his hideouts. He knew that with the increased security it was only a matter of time before he would be found out. And when they find him, there would be no trial, no courtroom, just him and twenty or more aurors, hit-wizards, mercenaries and Unspeakables with the permission to use unforgivable curses on him. He had to find more permanent shelter. Muggle world was out of question as it was the most obvious choice, to hide in a place over which wizards have so small amount of influence and control. On the other hand Wizarding part of Great Britain was now as secure as you could get. He would have to find a place to hide in which Ministry of Magic had the smallest amount of direct influence. The choices were not appealing to him. Azkaban, Gringotts and Hogwarts. Azkaban while it's a place inhabited by the smallest amount of ministry officials would not be an improvement over his current living arrangements. Gringotts was out of question, since all it would take for goblins to capture him and send to the ministry, would be to put high enough prize on his head. Meanwhile Hogwarts was under the influence of most powerful light wizard since the times of Nicholas Flamel's golden age. Albus Dumbledore was also heavily involved in the fight against Voldemort and Death Eaters, and he had a suspicion, that it was Dumbledore who advised his parents to get rid of him. All those disadvantages aside, Hogwarts was the best place for him to hide, if he could negate Dumbledore's influence over him. He doubted that the man would have it in him to try to get rid of him again, but Harry would make sure that he was safe while at Hogwarts.

He remembered an article in the Daily Prophet, not so long ago. Announcement of another of ministry's stupid educational decrees, this time he supposed presented by Albus Dumbledore himself. He smiled inwardly.

According to the decree, every teenage witch or wizard who hadn't had any official form of schooling, was supposed to attend at least sixth and seventh years courses at Hogwarts, or at home with help of the Hogwarts' provided tutor. The notices to those witches and wizards would be sent at the beginning of August just before the person's supposed sixth year. He was quite sure that thanks to the actions of his parents and Dumbledore he, at least officially, never existed, so he wouldn't be receiving any owl mail. Ministry registers however weren't known for their security. With another smile he stood up, and nodding to the priest who was finishing the services, left the church.

* * *

Young, and as of yesterday (meaning 15th July 1997) fifteen years old witch stood before her full length mirror. Her room until recently decorated in girly colours, with frilly laces almost everywhere, was now painted in navy blue. Curtains are forest green. Her wardrobe and bedside table are made of dark bronze wood. Her carpet is midnight blue with little stars on it. Her ceiling is white. She does not posses any single thing in red colour. For any of her Gryffindor friends it is considered a point of honour to have at least one thing in their possession which reminds them of their school house. She is different. she can't help it.

How can you be supposed to remember your Hogwarts house with fondness, when you are the subject of their jokes. When they harass you. When every one of your roommates hates you. When the object of your dreams treats you as a thing. Not a person but a thing. And annoying thing at that.

She tried really hard to capture his attention. She supposes that it became sort of mission to her for a while. But she was goddamn fourteen at the time! How could anyone expect her to behave different. The truth is that young girls would like to be noticed by their favourite boys. And she tried to catch Lester Potter's attention. But not even one time, he turned to her, said anything to her. She would have accepted a refusal. After all she was only interested in him, not in love as she thought at first.

_Fourteen year old's know nothing of love _- she muses - _Not that year later I can tell that I know something about it._

She became desperate. Surely, he would have said at least one word to her. He would have stepped down from his pedestal, and talked to her.

Or so she thought.

Apparently Lester Potter do not talk to those he don't consider his friends. Strange. She quickly realised that it was not that. Lester Potter did not talk to those he considered unworthy of his attention, or just too plain. She hadn't made a good first impression at him, and he condemned her. It was a hypocrisy. the supposed savior of the Wizarding World, one of the most prominent figures of the Light was almost as biased in his choices as those purebloods from dark families. It was then, that he became her mission. Sort of. 'Get Lester Potter to say at least full sentence to you' was the objective. And boy, had she tried. She sent him letters, tried to talk to him in corridors. But there were always his friends who chased her away. As if she was an annoying thing.

The plan with love potion was quite simple. Most love potions do not work permanently. They just confuse the person for some time, forcing her into thinking that they are infatuated with the first person they see after the application of potion. And when the time expires the potion leaves the organism of the person, leaving them only slightly interested in the person they were formerly infatuated with. The potion she gave Lester was just supposed to capture his attention, so she could be seen as mildly interesting. So she could squeeze one full sentence out of Lester Potter. But that wasn't what happened.

The chain of events that followed - constant humiliation, harassment, being called a slut, slag, fat cow etc. was not something she was prepared for.


	4. 3 Your quest is Vane

Chapter 3

Your quest is Vane

_Would you come out already !?_

Harry Potter was annoyed. While patience was necessary to survive in certain situations, and therefore waiting, was one of his indispensable pastimes, standing in a crowded area in front of one of the pubs in Diagon Alley, was not his favourite form of spending time. Especially because of the Scanning Probes which took unhealthy (for him) interest in that part of street he was standing in. Still, the wizard he was waiting for, was spending a liberal amount of time in this particular pub, while he was supposed to be returning to work in a few minutes. Harry became more and more anxious, as he watched street clock, being afraid, that Ed, entrance guard and main wand checker in British Ministry of Magic, would be to lazy to walk to the apparition point, and would just disapparate from the pub.

His worries were however eliminated, when middle aged, unshaved wizard, with longish brown hair flying around his face came out of the "Bickering Minotaur" pub, and quickly headed for nearest apparition point, unaware, that the person, whom Wizarding World's finest aurors and Unspeakables were searching for, was following him. On his first attempts Harry had a little trouble with blending with already various and strange population of Wizarding street. But now, with the help of muggle make-up kit, Harry, with what you could call an average human nose glued to him, as well as his carnation bronzed a little had little problem with it. When the wizard reached apparition point. Harry knew he had to act fast.

Apparition itself could be performed in any place, but when in apparition point, apparating wizard was subjected to a mild focusing charm, which usually helped him in apparition and decreased the risk of splinching. Therefore wizard entering an apparition point with the intent to use it, was affected by the charm, who additionally to helping him, also narrowed his perception a little. Not many people knew of this, and those who did, thought it to be unimportant. Harry on the other hand, thought it was quite helpful.

His eyes locked with wizard's tired gaze. Immediately he envisioned himself, appearing in the Ministry main lobby with a sound of displaced air. Then, he knew he was walking to the ministry personnel list on his own desk. He knew he would feel the irresistible impulse to drop the leaflet in the dustbin outside the ministry building, when he would be leaving for home, later in the evening.

Tired, bloodshot dark brown eyes of the guard became misty for a while. Most wizards and witches could detect the invasion on their mind performed by a legilimens. Those who were skilled or simply powerful enough, could prevent it by using Occlumency. However, tired guard's mind was a little 'softened', from the amount of alcohol the man consumed, and from many hours of work. Harry supposed, any Legilimens could invade man's mind at the moment, with little effort.

But, he wouldn't know for sure.

He wasn't a Legilimens after all.

* * *

Collecting the leaflet dropped by Ed at the end of his shift proved to be more difficult, than Harry expected it to be. Weather seemed to be sabotaging his plan, when it began to rain. Heavily. He knew his make up wouldn't hold for ever, along with his fake nose. But he hadn't predicted that it would be put to a waste so soon. And here he was, standing in close proximity to his desired document, again with his hood up, and his neckerchief on his face, he was only separated from his target by constant stream of wizards and witches most of whom were leaving or entering the ministry building. It was a shame that he could not control Ed in

more ... complete manner. He would then order him to dispose the document in some more secluded place.

_But when you don't have what you like, you must like what you have _- thought Harry grimly, as he began approaching the dustbin.

Granted that his actual attire would only contribute to his image of some 'trash searching' tramp but he wasn't actually looking forward to being that close to such a large group of wizards. 'You may never know who you are dealing with when it comes to wizards' he once heard someone say. Strange, because seeing as he wasn't exactly an people's person, he couldn't recall where he heard that phrase. He must have remembered it from his younger years. But them, when you were mostly conscious and aware of your surroundings, as well have had an excellent memory almost from the time you were conceived, it was strange when you couldn't recall the origin of one sentence...

_Be that as it may _- he mentally scolded himself - _you still have a helluva legion of wizards and witches to avoid_.

He then proceeded to limp slowly (something that went against all his instincts) in the direction of the leaflet on top of the dustbin. People repeatedly bumped into him, and cursed him under their breaths almost as many times. With his head hanging low, he made his way through the wide pavement, and entered dark alleyway in which he found the piece of paper that was the cause of his current actions. Promptly, without looking behind, he walked deeper into the alleyway. This evening was clouded and moonless, so hopes that he could decipher something from the sheet of paper were rather slim. But young Potter apparently thought that his chances were rather high - because his eyes suddenly flashed, icily blue light making a bfrief appearance in dark alleyway. Harry's eyes which were rather used to darkness, and somewhat more than capable of seeing something in such a darkness, became even more adapted to the darkness, apparently reading whatever was written on the leaflet. To Harry text looked as if it was viewed in a normal daylight. Numerous lines of names and the person's function were visible. As well as many notes and rather crude and explicit doodles on margins seemingly made by Ed . Apparently, ministry guard was rather bored during his work time, and cherished an idea of describing every person the best way he could. That included the person's habits, brief description of appearance, and in the case of several female workers supposed bustline measurements.Harry's eyes stopped moving, when they encountered line he was searching for.

... Gustavus Vane - Chief of Ministry Registers. Worktime 9-17, Monday-Friday ... - was written in officially looking, bold letters. Below, Ed added in his messy handwriting:

_Well off, bald bastard with heavy German accent. Geri reports him to be fond of visiting his wife in her coffee shop near the Ministry during lunch brake. Apparently **HE's** getting **IT** regularly!!!_

This rather vague description was illustrated with what was apparently supposed to be a pair of male genitalia, getting kicked by a large black boot. Well...

Harry made sure that his back was turned to the crowded entrance to the alleyway, as the piece of paper in his hand, slowly began to smoke and within few moments became engulfed in flames. Harry threw the now incinerating leaflet away, and made his way to the pile of boxes situated a little deeper in the dark passage. He sat there, and began to slowly chew on cold piece of pizza, the last reminder of a feast he had not so long ago. When he finished eating, Harry sat in a lotus position, and closed his eyes. He knew his rather sharp hearing would alert him if someone was to approach him. His rather well developed sense of smell would have also helped him, had it not been for the overwhelming stench of this part of London. He let his thoughts wander, just to focus on something else, and not that horrible smell.

* * *

_Last breath came out of the animal's mouth. The fox, now quite dead, was lying on a pile of snow at the base of a large tree._

_Pine, is it? - thought seven years old boy, consulting wih his extensive knowledge. _

_The bark at the bottom was smeared with animal's blood. Apparently forcibly thrown at the tree, the animal cracked it's skull. Crimson coloured liquid was now decorating the snow. The Child began to approach the dead animal carefully. It was several times that he was attacked by what he thought was his already dead prey. He poked the animal in the eye with long stick, but it remained ass still and unmoving as every dead animal. The child smiled - a gesture that was so out of place, that it would have disturbed any person observing the young boy, who was now trying to rip the animal, so he could get to the meat. Apparently not so patient, the child ceased his attempts to tear the fox's skin with his own hands. He just looked at the animal, with his strangely blue eyes, and the animal's stomach was slowly ripped apart by an invisible force. _

_After a while small boy sated his hunger, and was now resting on bloodied skin of the fox, under the pine tree. For anyone who would be passing through this woods it would be more than disturbing image. And if it was not for the child's gaunt and pale appearance, and the animal's remains under him, the boy could picture this situation as sort of idyllic. At least for him it was. His stomach now full, he felt at ease. And when he felt at ease he was in the mood to do some reading._

_One could ask, from where, a wild boy such as him, could gain any kind of literature. And the second question that would follow, would be an enquiry into the boy's reading skills and for that matter any kind of skills associated with education. However the boy was not in the mood for answering such questions, when from his attire, consisting of several animal furs sewn together, he took out a little book. "The basics of modern psychology". And promptly began to read it ignoring a saucers like eyes of theoretical observer. _

_Harry had found that book, when he was visiting disposal site at the edge of the forest in search of something to eat, a little over a month ago. It was the first book he ever read. And he couldn't help but wonder if this book was some kind of guide into his life, a map of himself given to him by fate who finally felt he owed him. And all this, because of one little paragraph:_

_"Dissociative identity disorder"_

_Harry wasn't able to comprehend how it was, that he found exactly that book. But it happened and it was crucial for his development. The paragraph wasn't very descriptive, but it was enough to trigger new pattern of thought in child's mind. He knew his mind was in some weird way divided. When he was born something shocking have happened. It shattered his mind, into two pieces. One, physical and the other, mental. He noted that he was progressing in both of them. Somehow, he knew that he wasn't supposed to have so much knowledge in either part of his mind. It was somehow hidden from him, and the knowledge came in weaves or in flashes, when something familiar triggered his (or was it someone's other) memories. He knew he had thought patterns unsuitable for seven years old child. But they were in his other persona, not the one responsible for his physical speech. Therefore he, with all his complicated thoughts wasn't able to utter any civilised-like sound. His purely physical persona was too feral, too animalized, to be able to proceed with trying to give some more advanced informations, and not his usual guttural sounds. He in some way knew, that he would have to bypass this restriction of his mentality if he was ever to be able to converse in any way with other human bein... with any human._

* * *

Harry growled silently. His lack of normal speech could certainly contribute to his possible failure. He knew that with the help of his other abilities he could in some way overcome these difficulties, but nonetheless he wasn't excited at the prospect of being forced to mingle with the crowd for longer periods of time.

He looked up. The dark, night sky was hidden behind heavy, storm clouds. His brilliantly blue eyes concentrated on some point in the sky. Meanwhile his consciousness wandered through the numerous and sometimes narrow and dangerous paths of his own mind. The term 'soul searching' could in some wicked way apply to his action. He explored already covered and known paths with little to none difficulty. What he was searching for was far away, hidden from his consciousness in depths of his own mind, just like the sky was hidden behind the clouds from any spectators. But while traveling through the clouds was something which could be done with no difficulty at all, traveling through his mind was anything but easy and simple.

He felt like he was forced into a narrow passage. Walking thorough those was not very difficult. He just stripped himself of few emotions, thoughts and worries, and with such 'lighter' probe he went down this road. It became more and more narrow as he proceeded. He knew he could get rid of only certain quantity of emotions and thoughts before he became incapable of any movement. It happened once or twice to him. He was trying to force himself through such a narrow way, tossing his thoughts and feelings away. And then he became stuck. And because his emotions and musings were the fuel and the force behind his consciousness' movements, he had no chance of going back, without regaining at least few of them.

He spent ten days in such a state.

Unmoving, sitting still, starving for ten days, trying to win the battle with his mind.

It was only several years later, that he broke through this passage. He was rewarded with the ability to control things at distance. An ability which was put to it's limits so many times in his life that even with his enhanced memory he was not able to remember all of those situations.

And here he was, walking slowly and carefully, trying to reach something new, something that could help him improve, to gain advantage over his adversaries. Wizards and witches of Britain. He himself wasn't a wizard.

He was something different.

Wizards used their wands. He used his mind.

For him the sentence "Mind over matter" was like his life insurance.

The tightness of this passage abruptly ended. Harry's mind rushed to provide the probe with every emotion and thought he could muster. He encountered such natural traps before. From narrowness to the extensive amount of space in one moment. If he was to enter such large area equipped only with few thoughts, he would became lost in his own mind like space traveller drifting through the outer space, without hope of finding his way back. But now his mind was buzzing with activity. Long forgotten emotions, and several vague thoughts, flashed through his consciousness. It became hard to navigate with the weight of so many "fuel canisters" like he preferred to call them. But the presence of something important became more and more urging, and he risked plunging forward, to grasp it, before it ran away. Because he knew it happened before and it was possible it could happen now. He reached with fabricated and not entirely defined limb, to grasp his target. To gain better control over himself. To be able to control mind and body, to be able to...

_... make my skin look like the brick wall behind me. A wall that someone puked on, at that _- stated already relaxed mind of Harry Potter. He wasn't exactly overjoyed with his new ability, at the moment at least. He looked like some weird sort of human, or in his case nonhuman chameleon. His outline was clearly visible, and he was still easy to notice.

Harry knew his abilities could be "developed". He still had to go through the whole way to reach the correct point in his mind to "push the button", but when it became routine to him, he could do it without giving it much thought. By pushing button repeatedly, the ability developed. When he discovered his ability to control objects, he could only move the smallest of twigs he could find in his forest. But with practise came the mastery. He was now able to control much bigger objects. So even this ability, while now it seemed useless would became useful with time and practice. He already added the route to the trigger to his mind's map.

He smiled - the progress wouldn't be visible even after several days of practice. He had to exercise for at least several months before he could use this ability to it's full extent.

_Well then_ - he thought with determination - _start to exercise as soon as you can. Which means now._

Rest of the night was spent on mimicking the patterns of bricks on the wall.

* * *

When he woke up, early in the morning, after only two hours of sleep he became instantly aware of several things. Firstly he was soaking wet, which meant he was exposed to the rain while he was sleeping. It washed down the rest of what remained from his attempt on make up. Secondly he realised that his neckerchief was so soaked it slipped from his face. And additionally, he realised that he was not so far away from the entrance to the British Ministry of Magic. They were bound to discover his presence sooner or later, even with his poor excuse of a disguise. and especially when he slept in here without his face covered. The coldness of his skin didn't disturbed him. He adapted to the temperature better than humans, which was why he survived his whole life in the first place. He quickly rose, covered the lower half of his face, and began to head for the entrance of the alley. When the street came to view he noticed that it was still to early for any applicants to be entering or leaving the ministry. Walking swiftly though the street young Potter came to halt and looked around the square. Several small shops adorned the buildings around. He made his way toward the shop which was most significant for him.

Adelle's Coffee Place

He proceeded to walk around the shop, looking for any kind of possible entrance. The back door were locked, and only small window was opened two floors higher. He looked around searching for the emergency exit. A simple ladder was hanging from the roof, apparently now folded, and unfolded only in case of fire. He outstretched his hand aiming at the ladder, and suddenly brought his arm down. The ladder apparently wasn't as hard to bring down as he thought. Just before it hit the ground he stopped it's descent and grabbed it in his hands, lowering it quietly. Granted the sound of unfolding ladder wasn't exactly as quiet as he desired it to be, but after a while of listening intently, when nothing happened, he began to swiftly climb. When he was at the level of the opened window, he pushed another familiar button in his mind. His legs which were normally capable on their own, became infused with brief surge of strength. Harry leaped, aiming at the windowsill, at least seven feats away from him. Before he had the chance to fall from the third floor, straight on a not so soft garbage pile, his hands grabbed the inside of the window. Hanging from the window with the risk of falling apparently hadn't disturbed Harry when he proceeded to climb through the window, into the building.

The room he was in, was apparently someone's bathroom. He silently opened the door, and came into short corridor. The owner of the apartment was rather fast asleep judging by the snoring noises coming from the bedroom. Harry sneaked down the corridor, to the entrance door. Unlocking them without arousing suspicion wasn't possible, but he didn't have any other choices. The staircase was deserted, which wasn't surprising at the ungodly hour of fifth am. When Harry came down the stairs, he encountered the main door, as well as what he supposed was another entrance to the coffee shop. It was closed. But with a little searching, Harry found a key hidden under one of the flowerpots which stood at either side of the Cafe entrance. The key was apparently charmed to be unnoticeable, but Harry's eyesight wasn't useful only to read in complete darkness. When he concentrated he could sense every bit of residue spell energy. And although he wasn't keen on doing it in such a close proximity to the ministry, he needed to get into this shop. So after being blinded by a sudden appearance of myriads of colours before his eyes, he felt his way to the door and with a little difficulty opened them, cancelling his enhanced sight. He then locked the door back, and lied on the floor. Placing the key under the door, he then moved around to be able to see just the right flowerpot. He then levitated the key back on it's place, and with a little difficulty, he also placed flowerpot on top of it, just as it was before his arrival.

He stood up and looked around. He supposed he was lucky, that this door weren't secured with any kind of alarm charm. If they were, he would have sensed the alarm going off. Looking around he saw that Mrs. Vane's Coffee Place was rather nice looking. Claret-coloured tables and curtains as well as several golden machines apparently used for preparing a coffee were decorating the local. While it wasn't exactly an oriental setting, several strange and exotic pictures adorned the walls of this establishment. Mix of several decorating patterns was visible, clearly stating that the owner of the place couldn't or wasn't wiling to decorate it in only one theme. On the counter, along with coffee grinding machines and other devices several photos were scattered. They probably showed the Vane family on their numerous vacations. Middle aged, bald man with amazingly good figure held his dark haired and slightly plump wife in his arms. In front of them stood girl about Harry's age (not that you could tell his age by just looking at him), smiling and waving at the photographer. Not that the photographs were moving, It was a muggle district and muggle-visited shop after all. The rest of photographs showed the family in various exotic locations, from India, to South America.

When Harry satisfied his curiosity, he began to look for some hiding place. He went to the back rooms, which held several facilities for employees as well as rather big, probably magically expanded, storeroom which contained numerous coffee containers which were labeled after the place from which the coffee was brought here. He found a nice hiding place behind the container labeled as "Ecuador". There was enough place for him to run if he had to evacuate for some reason. Deciding to wit here for the opening, he began to exercise his newly acquired ability, this time trying to force his skin to resemble the corner of the storeroom.

* * *

The noise of the coffee shop reached it's peak. Several times already someone had entered the storeroom in search of certain kind of coffee. Harry supposed it would be lunch time by now. Moving silently and concentrating on letting his skin shift it's colour as he walked, he made sure that he was alone, and that no one was approaching the store room. He sneaked slowly, avoiding the personnel, and soon enough his ears were greeted with a voice speaking in heavy German accent.

_I know she do not want to return honey, but are you really going to let her stay in home and not finish her education?_

_Yes, that was just what I want her to do. Haven't you heard her? She says she is harassed there. Granted, that what she did was rather irresponsible from her, but the reaction of her classmates is rather too severe_.- responded softer, woman's voice, apparently belonging to Adelle Vane

_Do you really believe in what she says? Do you honestly believe that Minerva or Dumbledore would have allowed something like that to happen? And before you answer, tell me something else. Where would you rather want your only daughter to be in times like that. When You-Know-Who returned. In our home, which I may add isn't as secure as I would want it to be, or in Hogwarts, the safest place in Britain?_ -Gustavus' heatedly said

The rest of the discussion was lost to Harry, when he had to duck into the room behind him, when another worker was sent to the storeroom. When he returned with the coffee to the shop, Harry again came as close as he could to the room in which both Vanes talked. He only managed to catch the last words of their conversation:

_Have it your way then! -_ shouted rather annoyed Mrs. Vane, and rushed out of the room, paying no attention to the figure squeezed into a shadowed corner. Harry sighed softly, and had only time to move in the direction of the doors, when someone collided with him. Mr. Vane was rather heavy man, and caused Harry to fall on his backside, under the opposite wall.

_Who are you, and what are you doing here!?_ - was grunted at him

Harry frantically watched as Mr. Vane advanced at him. He risked a look at the wall behind him. Creamy white paint greeted his eyes. With his neckerchief still on he looked like rather normal human. He smirked as he looked straight into Gustavus' eyes.

The older man's eyes got a little misty. His pupils became dilated as Harry pounded every ounce of his powers into the man's mind. He envisioned the old man going to work on the next day. He saw as he was walking down several corridors, and when he reached certain room he entered it. The room was empty, except for numerous cabinets, which he somehow knew were filed with student's identities. He promptly opened the cabinet next to the door. It contained the blank sheets of official ministry parchment. He knew he would be writing a letter to a certain someone, announcing his acceptance into Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He would put the letter in the right drawer, right after sealing it with ministry official seal. He then would forgot everything.

Laving the man's mind Harry slumped against the wall. The man still towered above him.

_I asked you what are you doing here ?!! It's a private property!_ - came again in his direction. Harry heard it, as if it was transmitted though malfunctioning radio.

The man, without receiving an answer, began to drag him to the entrance, and rant about the teenagers nowadays. His angry rant was cut short when he reached the backdoor, and threw Harry, face first into the garbage pile. With an angry huff, the man turned around and went inside, closing the doors behind him. Harry only could muster enough energy to manage a smile into the garbage, before his world became black from his exhaustion.


	5. 4 Prince Charring

Chapter 4

Prince Charring

When he was eight, he became an owner of a muggle fairy tale book titled „Adventures of Sir Adam". While it was not his normal choice of reading material, he somehow felt, that it was necessary for him to have at least some idea of what childhood is like. In the story, the protagonist was cursed by a insane witch, with a magic spell that turned his face into a face of some feral animal. His nose full of fur, and his ears invaded by fleas, this unhappy, infantile imitation of a medieval noble began his journey in search of a cure for his problem. After many years, at the end of one of his longest and most tiring adventures, he finally gave up his hope and began to cry. And at the precise moment a beautiful princess appears out of nowhere, falls in love with him, kisses him and returns him his normal apparition. The princess then explains to him that it was his tears and not her kiss, that has finally made him human.

Harry Potter never cried.

If he was as childish as his age at the time would suggest he was supposed to be, he would have tried to find a way to spill some tears in hopes of being cured instantly. But because his childish side was at the time buried deep beneath his growling, howling and in general animal kind of persona, this plan was not put in motion. Such were the quirks of having an adult mind in a child's body – his mature mind put this story into the „nonsense" category of importance, and enjoyed the thought that it wasn't affected by little child's irrational behaviour. The mature side of young Harry Potter wasn't about to cry over anything.

That's not to say that Harry's organism wasn't producing tears. He produced plenty of them over the years. Albeit they were that kind of tears that popped out of his eyes when he was heavily injured or for example some person's steel toe cap boots were striking his kidneys.

Like now.

Waking up to find that his sides were being kicked by several drunk youngsters did wonders to improve Harry's mood. He expressed his „happiness" by crushing the steel parts of teenage muggers' shoes. When he stood up he briefly thought how funny-looking were those young people lying in flower-like structure around him, cursing, moaning and trying unsuccessfully to remove their footwear. Looking around he realised that he was no longer near the back door of Mrs. Vane's coffee shop, apparently having been dragged by those drunks into more secluded area, so they could express their own emotional and addiction related problems by using rich body language. With a shrug, Harry corrected his neckerchief, and trotted off. He knew he would be receiving his first owl post ever in several days. Before that happened he still was not considered to be one of Hogwarts' students, and therefore it was in his best interest to remain unnoticed by auror and unspeakable forces. And that called for leaving the city of London. While walking through crowded streets of one of Europe's largest cities he wondered if it was possible for him to escape the city, the same way he got into it. That equalled hiding in a freight train, sharing space with herd of bovines. He wondered if his plan was successful and he would be indeed accepted into Hogwarts, would the trip with Hogwarts Express be any better than that.

He was heading in the direction of a nearest train station, and was casually looking around, watching people window shop on the busy street with a corner of his eye, when he realised that between the stormy weather that troubled British isles on that time of a year, and complete lack of cars on the street it was impossible for him to be seeing bright light reflected in shop windows. Very bright light, accompanied by familiar calm and relaxed voice relaying the message to the citizens, down the street. At least it was far away from him for now, but he could tell that they were approaching him swiftly.

Running wouldn't be a very bright idea, so instead he sharply turned right and attempted to cross the street along with several people. Luck however wasn't on his side any longer. On the other side, ahead of him another bright light appeared floating around the corner, accompanied by several people who in spite of their appearance were bound to be a part of monitoring force; they were looking warily around as if searching for something. He guessed that the monitoring probe behind him received the same escort. He had to act quick.

When he was younger and lacked the powers that he had now, survival was a matter of devising a cunning plan and executing it swiftly enough to escape natural predators, stronger that himself. Even now, despite forces at his command, young Potter was not what one could call a duelling master, so he had to act on his instinct.

He hid his face in his hands as if yawning, and from between his fingers a powerful bluish white light was emitted. Several pedestrians watched him curiously as he stood at the centre of a street with light erupting from his eyes. That was until two previously parked cars were lifted and thrown into displays of two restaurants on the either side of a street ahead of him. Panic erupted instantly. People were screaming, and running away from two now smoking cars. Aurors ahead of him turned their heads to see the place in which chaos began. They stopped moving, and formed a tight circle around the searching probe. Harry was more interested in the behaviour of the MLE officers behind him. He started to behave like he was scared, and began to slowly walk away, when aurors, along with the device ran past him to investigate. He knew he wasn't out of the woods just yet. Walking swiftly he risked a glance in the direction the aurors have came from, and sure enough. There stood two persons, apparently not interested in running from the scene of what muggles thought was a terroristic attack. One rather tall, bald, black man with a golden earring, and a timid looking woman with mousy hair were trying to spot anything unusual in their surroundings. He had to run past them to escape and wearing a hoodie and a neckerchief were a sure sign that he had something to hide. Turning away from them, he tried to hold the image of the standing pair in his mind. Behind them a very large shop display showing newest summer fashion was located. He started with that place.

A horrid, high pitched noise sounded in that exact place. It was high enough to render a more susceptible person unconscious. And it was certainly loud enough to cause the large piece of glass behind the aurors to shatter. Harry still moving tried to move his "external source of sound" at the level of the pavement to shatter more display windows, but being in motion as well as double-edged, deconcentrating effect of his sound, caused the extended fragment of his will to move upwards and then away from him, showering the street with a shards of glass. Not wanting to cause any more damage Harry stopped his distraction, running amid the panicked crowd, and leaving the street in chaos as muggle authorities arrived and were expecting to hear from the aurors why they were the only people at the scene.

When he was living in a wilderness and was being attacked by wild animals, he resorted to throwing stones at random locations to let his pursuers think that they were more humans present in the area. While now his tools have became if not more subtle then at least more effective, his technique still remained the same. Harry smiled.

* * *

While Harry was searching for a fitting way to escape from London, on the other side of this town in grim looking building which despite it's desolated look bustled with activity, several people were trying to rely their messages to one ageing man at the same time. Headmaster Dumbledore was reminded of old times, when during the first war with Voldemort his subordinates had fallen into the nasty routine of reporting at the same time. Despite his power, age and experience there were still some feats which headmaster hasn't accomplished. Understanding several voices trying to interrupt each other, being one of them. 

„It's amazing how these young people resemble the behaviour of their predecessors. And yet they think it's their own piece of news that is most important, and fail to see the importance of the fact that Order of the Phoenix is not only the description of our association, but also the clue about how said association should work"

Headmaster couldn't help but chuckle to himself at the thought. His laugh has stopped young people's report, as they were watching the head of the order in confusion. He resolved that he would spare them the embarrassment of one of his long lectures, and exclaimed swiftly before any of them had chance to begin again:

„_Thank you for your reports. Unfortunately I let my mind wander for a while, and missed everything since the report of Ms. Delacour_" – he smiled at a young French witch who started to describe situation, before everyone else - „_So, if you would be so kind to repeat it ... one at a time perhaps?_"

They all looked around at themselves and blushed. One of them, a young wizard named Edgar Dimble opened his mouth to start his own report, when out of nowhere, with a crack of a displaced air appeared Kingsley Shacklebolt, one of the Dumbledore most trusted officers. He started to approach headmaster but was stopped by the elder man merrily exclaimed apology:

„_I'm afraid that you will have to wait Kingsley_" – said Dumbledore his eyes twinkling - „_Young mister Dimble was about to report rumours he heard about today's events. You will have to wait your turn_"

Shacklebolt if at first appeared to be confused by the man's statement, quickly recovered and retorted:

„_I was at the scene Albus_"

Headmaster's happy demeanour quickly shifted into one of real interest. He dismissed the group of young members, asking them to report to Minerva McGonnagall, and headed to more private briefing room with Kingsley. After locking the door, he gestured for the auror to begin.

While listening to younger man's account of events, his brows furrowed as he frowned. It wasn't like any of Voldemort previous attacks, where hundreds of people were killed. This one without any death casualty, and only with few people injured by falling glass wasn't something that Voldemort would pull off. Whoever did this had really no desire to cause any lasting damage to either muggles or aurors, and by the time Kingsley finished his report, Albus was quite sure that cars being thrown around and shattered windows were only a presentation of capabilities of some young and fame seeking dark wizard. Knowledge that even two full patrols of aurors aided by monitoring probes couldn't detect, let alone stop this wizard from causing destruction did nothing to ease Headmaster's stress. While he was not overly affected by the display of power, he was certainly impressed by the sneakiness of the perpetrator. It could affect society's belief in infallibility of the defence line they were provided with. So it was best to redirect some of his forces to pursue the troublemaker. With that thought in mind, Dumbledore said to his subordinate:

"_Kingsley, while I do not think that this event is strictly connected to the return of Voldemor_t" - here he smiled when he saw that his friend hadn't flinched at the mention of the name –" _I still decided to assign at least two persons out of our midst to follow and if the opportunity arises, to capture the cause of this attack_."

"_Are you proposing some of the more experienced members?_" - asked Kingsley - "_Because if I may suggest... I think Tonks would be the best for this job. She was injured slightly when the attack occurred, so she holds a grudge against the attacker, so we will have no problems with motivating her. And when she becomes devoted to some idea, there is no getting back – she's going to pursue it. Lupin attests to that _"– he smiled - "_I am asking this, because for starters, she's a genius tracker and secondly she recently had great amounts of paperwork and very few field operations, and you know that she becomes ... uhm, how should I put it... twitchy and clumsy without a way to burn off her energy. And as Molly assures me, other members had enough of her running into them at every hour of their duty here. I took her on today's scanning walk in hopes of allowing her to let some steam out, and now when the opportunity presented itself, I think it would be wise to assign her to the job._"

Albus smiled. He sometimes wondered how the light side won the last war with such a ... original personas of Tonks' kind. But then, he supposed he wasn't as ordinary as he thought. So he said to Kingsley:

"_I agree. Soon-to-be Mrs. Lupin should be ideal for this job. I'll inform her as well as hmm... Mundungus and Dedalus. They should be more than enough to solve our problem. Additionally, tell young Nymphadora to handle issues related with media. She's more of a spokesperson than the remaining two_"

With that, Dumbledore dismissed Kingsley, and disapparated seconds after that with a silent sound.

* * *

Harry sat down, on a dirty and smelly floor of the cattle truck. While travelling with so many animals wasn't very comfortable, at least he was quite sure that these animal were herbivores, and had no motivation to attack him. That was an improvement over constant hunt that was going in a whole London. Hunt for him. 

"_One may think that when you have left wilderness, you would have met only civilised people with the desire to talk and not to kill. But the word "civilised" could hardly be used to describe the actions of the wizarding world's police forces_." - thought bitterly young Potter - "_But, when I will finally get to Hogwarts, it should be easier ... to avoid meetings with aurors and unspeakables, at least if I will keep myself distanced from the Headmaster for his office is rather sure to be a meeting place of some kind_. "

The train started to slowly roll on it's tracks, and Harry sighed mentally with relief. He was leaving London for good if he was to decide – it was too dangerous to try and sneak into the Diagon Alley again. He didn't have any money, so trying to buy a new student supplies would be pointless, and the risk of being caught while stealing, without the ability to explain himself would surely be the cause of his demise. It was with some relief, that he had discovered while rummaging in the mind of Gustavus Vane, that students from poor families were supplied with second handed items required to work in the school. Harry smiled – which caused some cattle to move farther away from him, as the aura of disquiet caused by that monstrous human's smile arose - he would only have to forge some story, about his parents dying during the first war, and himself being sent to the muggle orphanage, where he was studying magic secretly on his own. At best, Hogwarts' teachers along with the Headmaster would think that his abilities were just a form of underdeveloped magic, functioning rather differently because of the years of unassisted practice. Harry frowned – which caused some more cattle to run in fear into the other corner of the wagon - he would have to play a role of a handicapped magical teenager. And that, knowing the customs of wizarding youth, would at best expose him to the another kind of ridicule. From being constantly chased by aurors and unspeakables, he would have to bear the burden of being attacked mentally by all those angsty, angry and ambitious youngsters.

And he discovered, that actually he preferred if not liked that kind of offence. But, when you were always aware of what your own parents did to you when you were just a newborn, when you were aware of the disguised look on their face which appeared when they looked at you, it wouldn't be very hard to imagine, that any other kind of mental harassment would not produce any effect. So on that account Harry was rather safe when it came to dealing with Hogwarts population. On the other hand, he would have to try to learn the sign language, to at least give himself a way of communicating with the surrounding people. He was sure, that his writing skills were more than adequate – in contrary to his speech which was feral and wild, his handwriting strangely was very curvy and artistic; almost a calligraphic wonder. He strangely couldn't remember where and when he learned to write, but at the tender age of three, he was an expert calligraphist. The knowledge was just in his mind, when he was in need of it. Not that a beast-like being like him had many occasions to write some longer text, but that skill came in handy a few times in his life.

His musings were abruptly stopped, when the train stopped just as abruptly and violently. The bovines began to loudly express their unhappiness, and one of them was the loudest, apparently injured in some way by the sudden stop, so someone was bound to come here and check on it. Harry quickly stood up, ran into the very corner of the wagon and jumped high. A sliding doors of the wagon opened on the other side, and some people went into the wagon, just as Harry folded his legs under his body in the air, and covered himself completely in his dark robes. But instead of loudly falling back onto the floor, he slowly floated into the upper corner of the wagon, where he became hardly visible in the shadow. The people were taking their time to check on the hurt cow, unaware of the battle that Harry was at the time involved with his own mind. To stay in the air he had to constantly press "the button", but it became unbelievingly hard to hold it, when the force of the gravitation called. So he had to stop holding "the button", and right away chase through his mind, through all of curves, tight passages and crossroads with his mental probe, to push the button again, and again, and again. It was painstaking process, but Harry had to complete it every time, with practised swiftness, or else he would have been discovered. So it took toll on him, an he began to sweat profoundly, and to shake considerably from exhaustion under his robes. The people in the wagon were however unaware of that, and now they were discussing how to remove the injured animal safely, from this almost full carriage. Harry had to think of something quickly, because he could feel that his race through his mind was slowing down each time a little, and he began to drop a little. Hem of his robes was seconds from being visible in the light of the flashlights.

So he did one thing he always avoided doing. He split his mental probe in half. Horrible shriek of pain filled his mind, and he almost fainted, but in the last moment willed his will to hold onto his conciousness. He then quickly sent one half of the probe on the old route to the "lifting button", and the other half was sent into other region of his mind. He felt that this probe burned white hot, as it approached it's destination, and he smiled. It was what he expected. He pushed the other button, with almost burned probe.

Small group of air particles, heated almost to their limits, appeared on the injured animal's backside. Which caused the animal to ignore pain in his limbs, and to jump out of the wagon, followed by concerned people, last of whom closed the door of the carriage. Harry waited for a moment before timing the route of both his mental probes to hit and fuse with each other. And when that part of mental ballet was finally completed, his body slumped into the floor, from under the ceiling quite devoid of any mental and physical activity for the time being. The cattle in the carriage relaxed as the culprit of the unrest laid unconscious, as the train began to move towards its destination, the town of Carmarthen.

* * *

It was rather boring evening in the Godric's Hollow 16. At least for Lester Potter, who had to sit in his own room, because of the penalty which his own mother put upon him three days ago, when she have discovered, that he along with his father have been practising without her approval. All would have been well, had it not been for the fact that his mother after coming home from work discovered that her son has put his new blouse turned inside out, and asked him to correct it. And it was no use. She immediately noticed the small burn marks that now adjourned his left arm, and which his dad could not heal completely. And it was there that the hell started. His father suddenly had lost all colour on his face. And it wasn't for no reason, for Lily first target was her husband. She began to scream about unreliable fathers, idiotic dimwits, and animal barbarians who tried to kill their own sons in the attempt at some wild initiation ritual. Then, when all the words were said, and Lily lost all capability of speech, she began to get creative with the use of her many favourite curses. 

Finally, when her husband was lying under the sofa, as a hapless pile of goo, she began to scold her son. It was much quieter, partly because she exhausted her voice while screaming at James, and secondly, because Lily has never screamed that much on her own son. So he accepted all the disappointment in her lecture, and apologized. Not that it has freed him from the confines of coming penalty. He was to remain grounded in his room until the end of the week, and that meant that he couldn't visit any of his friends, and most importantly his girlfriend. Ron and Hermione felt sorry for him, and sympathized with his case, but Ginny wasn't as accepting as they. She told him in her most recent letter, that he was a prat, and a idiot for not being able to go with her on a trip to Magical Wonders Park which was visiting Ottery St. Catchpole this week.

So there was no wonder that he was a little angry at his mom. Additionally there were no signs of his Dad receiving any penalty beside the initial one, and when he confronted him about it, his dad flusher, before distracting him, and quickly fleeing to work. Apparently mom went easier on him, and he feared that his son may remind his mother, that her husband hasn't received such a big penalty as her son. Not that he meant to do that. But the fact remained, that he was grounded, and devoid of any chance to train. That would mean that professor Dumbledore wouldn't be happy with him. He explicitly told him to train with his father at every possible moment, because when he would come to Hogwarts in September, he would have to participate in other classes as well, which would diminish the time he could devote to duel practice. Unfortunately Dumbledore has also agreed with his mother, albeit under her "strong encouragement", on her rule of training only under her supervision, so there was no point in sending him a letter with a plea to solve this problem, for his mother would surely remind Albus of his promise.

"_It's hopeless!_" - shouted the older of the Potter siblings with resignation - "_It's just the end of July, and I can't train until the start of a school year_."

And it appeared, that it was indeed the case, for his mother has gone as far, as to take away his wand, and given him his toy-wand, useful only for the simplest of charms and transmutations. He tried to argue, that he has to practice for the other subject as well as Defence, but his mother has seen through his lie. So here he was. Bored, frustrated and imprisoned in his own room, waiting for rescue. And so rescue came in a form of his owl Hedwig, carrying two letters. He took them from his owl rather to harshly, for which he received a nasty nip on his left ear. He was about to growl at Hedwig, when apparently sensing what was coming, she took of and flew away from him, into her cage. He instead resolved to look at her very pointedly, but then returned his this time hopeful gaze to the two letters. His hopes were however ruined, when he saw that they were from his friends, Ron and Hermione, and not from his girlfriend. That was not to say that he hadn't wished for them to write, but some more mail from Ginny would have been appreciated.

Resigned, he decided to start with Hermione's letter:

_Dear Lester_

_No, I am not going to ask your mom to let you visit me and my parents, so you could sneak off and visit Ginny. I may be feeling sorry for you, but that doesn't mean that I would disregard your mother's words. Beside it would be rather stupid of you to be going around, sneaking off from your parents' house, especially when some strange things are happening. Have you read today's morning edition of The Daily Prophet? Rita Skeeter may be a fat cow, but at least when she's not ruining some person's reputation, she's a quite accurate reporter. She wrote an article about some weir occurrence, some attack of sort that has happened in London in the morning. The attackers escaped, no one was hurt, but it was rather impressive use of magic, to deliberately destroy some property, and to distract aurors. I heard from Ron, that Tonks and Kingsley were there, and even they couldn't detect the attacker. So if it may be Voldemort (of which I am not entirely sure, because Ronald insists on it being Him so surely, that I suppose he deduced it from his Ron-ish little head) it wouldn't be wise to go around unprotected. And it would worry your mother so much to find that you are gone, that when she would have found you, she would surely hex you, and give you some additional penalty, like... I don't know... eating broccoli. So better sit where you are, and think that within a month you will be free of your parents' caring love, on which you constantly complain._

_That aside, I am well, and I am practising my French – my parents say, that for the second half of August we are going to Marseille. Your fiend_

_ Hermione_

That was very, distinctive Hermione-style letter. Giving a lecture through the whole letter, an then writing one sentence about herself. He would have to remind hermione to stop doing that. He put this letter on a shelf and opened Ron's:

_Hey Mate_

_You may think that I am just afraid of mum, so let me make it clear:_

_Yes I am afraid of my mum._

_You should have seen her seven years ago, when Fred, George and I decided it would be fun to escape from home for a night or two. Oh the apocalyptical proportions of the screaming sessions we received! And from what I've heard once, when visiting you, when you have for some reason decided to paint you hair blue your mother is just like mine if not worse. So logical conclusion is (hey, I am writing something logical – can't wait to tell that Hermione) that I, my dear friend, won't be participating in your plan. Sorry mate, but I don't want to get screamed at by both your and mine mother, and become the proud owner of a confiscated broomstick. So I won't be helping you on that one._

_On the other hand I can help you if you want some news on my sister. Ginny lately has a very short fuse, and it only takes to mention your name, to trigger the explosion. Oh – she won't say anything. But she will get red (and I mean Weasley red), she will seethe, and when you ask her why she is doing that she glares daggers at you. So she really is disappointed with you at the moment, even if she tries not to show it in her letters. And if she tries to show it in her letters... then well, she is my sister, and I can not exactly oppose her. So if she stays that way for at least the rest of the week I may be obliged to punch you. Nothing personal – but really I am a Weasley – aren't I. So on that happy note, i am finishing this letter. Your mate_

_Ron_

Lester dropped heavily on his bed. He was doomed if Ginny was still angry with him. The disappointment of professor Dumbledore would be last of his worries if he wouldn't find a way to apologize his girlfriend. He resolved that sending flowers every day would be enough for now. Apologizing at the distance wasn't his forte, but it was only form of action, he could now undertake.

* * *

The room was lit only by the stars which appeared to shine from the room's ceiling. The moonlight shining from the great and tall Gothic windows was also a source of some light . But it was still quite dark, and the two persons sitting on a long wooden benches facing each other, surely should have trouble seeing one another. But for conducting a conversation darkness wasn't that big of a barrier. 

"_I think that we are moving toward our destination point, where all will resolve itself. Either we succeed or we lose and are shunned by the whole wizarding world_" - said old, white bearded man, to his companion - " _And the results would be terrifying if they will discover us . It would mean the destruction of us both, and surely both you and I, normally such different persons, will have to cooperate closely._ " - the old man looked at his friend for some confirmation, but saw no indication of acceptance from him. The man sighed heavily, and spoke again to his silent companion - "_I know that you find it repulsing to work with me, because of our past, but you have to understand that what had happened then isn't my fault, and you have a lifelong list of me rescuing you from all different kinds of situations usually hopeless for those of your kind. So you have to accept the fact that I am supporting you on our every step. What I expect from you in return, is to show some gratitude, and show some progress – surely you don't think that someone of so infantile strength could help our cause. You know what is important now, so try to develop some progress in that matter. Do I make myself clear?_ "- old man frowned as if to ask a question that could evoke only one answer.

The other figure trembled slightly. It was smaller than the other speaker, fragile and weak. But it nodded in response, hoping it would be enough. But for the old man it wasn't enough for he repeated his last question, this time looking at the smaller figure more forcefully:

_"Do I make myself clear?"_

The smaller figure trembled even more, but with much struggle, said in a raspy voice, as if it wasn't using it for a long time, and speaking caused it pain:

„_Y-e..."_

„_What?!"_ - demanded the older figure

„_Yee-ee-..ssssssss.._."

Young Potter shot up from his place on the carriage floor, his heart pounding, and his head being pounded by the invisible force known as the headache. He still vaguely remembered what appeared to be a dark chamber, in which he surely never had been. He became confused, because in all his life never once he had a dream which was so real and tangible. All his previous dreams were a mix of horror, anguish and fear of being caught. Filled with emotions, they were the fuel of so many of his mental escapades, which he made over the years. But this dream was so clear, and not filled with emotions, that it had to be of different kind. Harry promised himself to think about this later, for now he realized that the train has stopped. And instantly after that, he became aware of another curious thing.

His lips were shaped in a strange way, with his teeth clenched forcefully behind them, and air coming from his lungs produced a very distinctive hissing sound. The letter "S" was sounding in the cattle truck, unsettling the bovines again, so Harry stopped exhaling, and the sound stopped. Shocked by the discovery, that he could articulate with his mouth, he began to wonder if his new ability came in connection to that strange dream. What it was... the old figure expecting something from the other one. The small, and fragile one. Harry couldn't help but to feel some kind of familiarity with the second, weak figure. Something vague, something just escaping his thoughts...

Harry growled. The train lurched into movement, and he was now distracted by the sounds of frightened cattle. Something escaped his notice, and he wasn't happy about it. The fact that his head was being forcibly thrown around wasn't contributing to his sense of coziness. He resigned himself to the thought of some important fact being omitted, and with a frown on his face he went to sleep, for the period of unconsciousness did nothing to rejuvenate his tired and sore muscles. In the dark wagon he could not see that a small part of the skin on the back of his head became reddened as it was seared with the intense heat. On any other person it would look like it was part of a normal skin of the usual carnation, but on Harry's pale, bald head, the mark was rather a disfigurement. Not that it would mater to the now sleeping soundly, small replica of Lord Voldemort.


	6. 5 Once in a blue moor

Chapter 5

Once in a blue moor

She danced silently, to the music that could be only heard by her. Blades of grass touching her bare feet, the morning breeze moving her nightgown in rhythm with her dance. She was not an epitome of modern beauty, being rather overweight, her figure not as attractive as she would like it to be. But here on the border of a forest and a beautiful meadow, filled with summer flowers and the sound of bird's song, with no one here to witness her dance, but the warm wind, she felt fully and utterly free.

She was thankful to her mother, that she decided it was best for her to spend the rest of holidays, with her aunt on a countryside. It was a blessing – being able to escape from her scream filled dwellings back in London, where her parents have been constantly quarreling over her. Her mother thought it would be better for her, to not go back to Hogwarts ever again, while her father in his usual adamant manner, insisted on her being sent back there for another year of education. She herself didn't have a faintest idea of what she wanted to do – on the one hand she surely wasn't very enthusiastic about the idea of transferring to another school, with all that was connected with that kind of transfer – new faces, new teachers, new rules, completely new environment, and the stress connected with coming into this all, would certainly not help her in recovering from those rather nasty events that occurred in Hogwarts. On the other hand, she wouldn't dare to imagine, what would happen, if she had been indeed sent to Hogwarts. When she began her education there, she felt as if that place was second home to her – a feeling that many other students also had – but now, it felt so alien to her, that it would be like living on the alien planet. She was sure that she could handle the cold treatment she would receive upon returning there, but the loneliness of having to live in a place, where no one would ever say a kind word to her, just because of a mistake she had made once, was something that filled her heart with unease. And finding no way to solve this unsolvable situation, she did the only thing she was capable of doing now.

She danced.

Her aunt was an owner of this rather huge property in Wales, and she has been coming here since her youngest years. Or until recently, when three years ago, her aunt had fallen ill, which caused her parents to cease, to send her here, not wanting to impose on a sick relative. But this year, her aunt's health has improved enough, for her to be sent here again. And while having an energetic teenage girl under one's roof, hardly counts as a factor which contributes to the silence and rest required for one's return to health, her aunt Frieda had stated that it was of no importance to her, and that she preferred having her niece in her house during holidays. Her aunt, as all those old aunties in old fairy tales, was a rather weird but on the same time, very wise and lovable person. While not being a cat-person, prevented her from having a small herd of cats under her roof, she has substituted cats with rabbits, an so her house was full of Fluffies, Plushies, Windywinkies, Pupplehuffs and many other of the long eared rodents variety.

An especially strong gust of wind had made her realize, that while it was pleasant to dance here, her nightgown soaked with a morning dew, clung to her legs, making them uncomfortably cold. She wasn't about to catch cold in the middle of summer, so she stopped dancing and lazily began to trot in the direction of her aunt's mansion. Jogging slowly through the woods she had no need of hurrying back to her room, so it would escape her aunt's notice, that she has left so early in the morning. It was a wonderful quality of her aunt, that she allowed her to wander around as much as she would like to – granted that some places were of limits, like the Blue Forest, which was a living place of some more dangerous magical creatures – but pretty much the rest of the property was, for the holidays, her own kingdom.

Branches of a few bushes were moved away, and she saw, that she still knew the place very well, despite not being here for the last few years – she finally reached her aunt's house. Yellow elevation welcomed her eyes, and combined with the dark brown cover of the roof, and with ivy growing on the walls, the mansion looked, as if it was taken straight out of a fairy tale. The window of her room was opened, and the hangings were drawn outside the frame, by the strong, morning wind. She smiled – it looked inviting and cozy, as if it was an escape door, from the world of worries, leading into the world of faeries. So she walked to the window, and because it was placed barely above the ground level, she had no trouble in climbing up, and entering the room through it. She crossed her room, floor full of scattered pieces of clothing, and stood in front of the full length mirror. When she stood in front of the reflective surface that showed her own self, almost half a month ago, in her own room, she felt as if she was dying. But here and now, looking at her own reflection, her dark hair ruffled from the wind, her face reddened from running in the morning, her nightgown wet from dew, her feet bare and dirty from being in contact with the earth, she felt very much alive. But from somewhere in her mind, came the thought, that it would soon be over. She would be sent to school, and no matter which school it would be, she would feel alone there. Her time at her aunt's place would remain only as a happy memory. One of a few.

Romilda felt, that her nightgown was becoming wet also in the places, in which her tears have fallen. Strange grimace appeared on her face, as if she was trying to appear happy and smiling, while her tears still were flowing from her dark eyes. She fell on her knees, lowering her face, trying not to look in the mirror, not to notice how miserable she looked right now.

The sound of a small feet, quickly approaching, captured her attention. She was surprised to notice that while she was weeping silently, a small fuzzy ball, better known as Fubby, came through the door and into her room. The rabbit was now looking curiously at the distraught girl. She was about to catch the rabbit, in search for some warmth that could ease her emotions, when another sound had resounded. Steps of her aunt's slippers could be heard on the corridor, and soon enough her voice also followed:

"_Fubby! Where are you darling? You fuzzy rascal, you know that you should be lying in your cot! Your vet told you so! So now come to mommy, or else..._"

Aunt Frieda was known for throwing random threats in her pets' direction. But executing those threats was another thing. The sound of her slippers have stopped, as their owner apparently also halted. Outside Romilda's room, unluckily. For a moment Romilda hoped, that her aunt would continue to walk, but then her voice had sounded:

"_Rommy, are you really sleeping in such a drafty room? I told you to close your window when you are coming back, didn't I?"_

There was no helping it. The first rule of living in Aunt's Frieda's house was that every question asked by her, had to be answered. She made that clear all those years ago, when little Romilda had for the first time arrived here. It was apparently very good for a child to grow up in a house where it had to answer questions and fess up regularly. It helped in shaping an honest personality and whatnot. But now Romilda was very queasy about answering that question, for she would like it very much if her aunt would just leave her alone for now. But then she thought better of it, and as clearly as someone who had just until recently cried, said:

"Yes auntie"

Her nasal voice, must have alerted her aunt that she was crying, and surely seconds later, she have entered her room. Romilda raised her head to look at her mother's sister, awaiting her reaction.

Her aunt could be usually described as a rather jovial person. In her late fifties, she still had no gray hair, and her happy appearance and demeanor had on many occasions, been a source of consolation for many family members. So even when she came into the room, and saw her niece in her disheveled state on the floor, she hasn't lost her smile. Instead she picked up Fubby, and with the rabbit in her arms, she sat down next to her niece and with one hand gliding through the girl's hair started:

"_Is it something really important, or are you just having a crying day?_"- said her aunt in a very protective voice. For a second forgetting, that it is aunt Frieda she is talking with, Romilda tearfully exclaimed:

"_Of course it is something serious! My mother wants me to go to another school, where I will be all alone friendless and alienated, and dad wants to send me to Hogwarts, where I will also be all alone friendless and alienated. I believe it qualifies as something serious!_" - she screamed, tears falling from her eyes. Her aunt only looked at her.

Romilda sighed. "_I have fallen for it?_" - she said in a shaky voice, the tears still slowly flowing down her cheeks.

"_Yes my dear, you have_" - replied her aunt - "_So now, that you have finally said what was sitting on your stomach for the last few days, let us discuss some things_." Her aunt sighed, and her forehead became creased - "_Tell me, my dear, why would you do such a disgusting thing, as using a love potion on your classmate?_" - She quickly held up her hand to stop the outburst of anger from her niece - "_You have to know, that I am not asking you this to blame you, but I need to know some basic facts of this situation, to propose you with some solutions. So, will you cooperate with me young lady?_" The stubborn look in Romilda's eyes diminished a little, and she huffed only once, before, on one continuous breath, quickly exclaiming:

"_Yes, I will. But, aunt, you have to know that this is not what it seems to be. Yes, I have used love potion on Lester Potter, and yes I admit that at the beginning I had a small crush on him. But these two facts are not connected with each other. After I realized that my crush was just that – a crush, I , by no means lost my interest in Lester Potter. It was not a romantic interest _"– she supplied even quicker, seeing her aunt frown - "_I just wanted to become his friend and at least if that was not meant to be, to become his acquittance. But no matter what I did, he would not see me as anything else, but that small girl that once had a crush on him. So I... I don't know what came over me to decide that a small dose of a love potion would affect his attitude toward me, so I could be able to become his friend. I now realize that at that point I wasn't even interested in a full friendship with him. I just wanted to reassure myself that I could capture someone's attention. And... well you know how it worked._." - Suddenly the young girl has looked utterly crushed. -"_I won't be able to come there ever again without feeling guilty, Won't I?_" - she said in a small voice, and little out of breath.

Her aunt face cleared and a vague smile appeared on her lips. She hugged her niece closely and said, still holding the sad girl:

"_You know that you did the wrong thing, and that in itself is the right thing. But you can't expect your classmates, to see this as easily and as clearly as you do. They, for some reason, have chosen you to be their scapegoat, and when it comes to teenagers, unfortunately, they rarely change that choice once it is made. So, what I am saying is that... yes living in Hogwarts, with all this hostility directed onto you will be hard. And I am saying that it **will** be hard, because as well as I know my sister, I don't think that she could be able to persuade your father not to send you to Hogwarts. He's just as stubborn as you are. "- _She said winking to her niece_ - "I know that it could sound as the advice taken out of the psychology book, but you will just have to be yourself_." Her niece looked at her as if she clearly wanted to express an opinion that this piece of advice wouldn't improve her situation. However the older of the two continued: "_Yes, you have done something wrong, but you regret it, and the... vengeance and mistreatment that others are imposing over you, should just reassure you that now, you are free of fault, having done the right thing of seeing your fault, and they are just expressing their anger. I am not saying, that you should allow yourself to be hurt, feel free to hex the lot of them, but don't treat those children as someone that could seriously threaten you and your way of life. They will always scream and curse – you just have to realize that it is normal, and handle it as if it was something that bores you. If they won't see a reaction, they will leave you alone. That is one thing. And the second... the problem of loneliness. Let me say, that if you are honest to yourself, and are living just the way you are, they will see it, and some of your classmates are bound to see you for yourself and not as the mendacious image of you, they have made up in their minds. And besides – I believe that this year will be more fruitful, when it comes to acquiring new acquaintances – with the new educational decree, you will have much more chance to find some fitting company, if no one from the old crowd becomes interested in you. Any more questions?_"

Romilda was now staring at her aunt in disbelief. Her aunt basically, had just told her, to accept the mistreatment she was receiving as something normal. Only aunt Frieda could utter something as weird, as if it was the way of comforting her niece. It was so wrong to her teenage mind, but oddly it also felt comforting. As if the weight of this problem had been lifted from her arms. As if she had done anything she could do, and the initiative lied on the other side. It felt somewhat liberating from the responsibility of having to fight for one's colleagues.

"_No aunt, no more questions_" - She said.

Her aunt nodded and taking Fubby with her, started to leave. Romilda quickly said:

"_And thank you auntie... I... feel better now_". Her aunt smiled and winked at her niece. Walking out of the room she just said:

"_And please dear, do close this window. It's freezing here. Fubby's health will suffer even more if you intend to expose him to such conditions_"

That told, her aunt smiled and left.

Romilda resolved, that she would close the window, but from the other side. She quickly dressed in jeans cutoffs and light blouse, and jumped outside through the window. Her mood was now vastly improved, and that called for a visit, to one of her kingdom's beautiful places. Shoeless, young girl, running though the fields could be seen from one of the windows on the upper floor. Frieda smiled, looking proudly at the happiness of her sister's child.

* * *

The woman was waiting patiently for the father of her still unborn child, to come and take her home. She wasn't very happy that he was being so late, because standing here, on a deserted and dark railway station, wasn't one of her favorite pastimes. She was staring at the dark woods on the other side of the railway, with a small tingle of fear touching her heart, not knowing what could hide in such a dark place. She felt utterly relaxed, when she heard the sound of a car wheels on the gravel, and soon enough saw the car of her husband, pulling beside the station. She quickly hurried away, throwing the last glance over her shoulders, at the dark border of the uninviting forest. It was really with a benefit to her composure and sanity, that she hadn't noticed that something had captured and returned her gaze. A pair of eyes, placed high, on one of the trees was looking at the woman intently. 

Not that it was a wrong thing to do. Looking at the pregnant woman, would be, for pretty much anyone, a nice way of spending time. The charm of a little bump growing in the woman's belly, would help many happy memories to arise in almost everyone's mind.

It was double so, for one Harry Potter, the actual resident of aforementioned tree branch, who was staring at the retreating woman's back. It caused him, to remember the only happy period in his life. Living in your mother's womb isn't usually the first thing that comes into your mind, when you want to recall something happy. Normal people would remember their childhood, their wedding day, the birth of their first child. But for Harry it was different, for it was the only period of time in his life, which he could recall, that was at least filled with some sort of happiness and love. A vague and swirling pictures of the time before his birth, before an occurrence that had ripped his normal life from him. An occurrence that had caused him to become a monster he was now. Before that horrid event, he was a normal person, whose destination was to be born normally, cared for, loved and spoiled almost beyond imagination, by his parents. Looking at the women in the blessed state was a reminding impulse for the young Potter. Reminding him of what might have been, had he been given a chance for a normal life, and what would be if he would somehow find a way to return to his normal form. Not that the hopes for attaining the second objective were very high, but yes... it was one of his longer term tasks to complete. The first of them, actually in the process of completion, being connected with finding a way to successfully get into Hogwarts and remain there relatively safe, until the storm connected with the "Return of Voldemort" would pass. So here he was, hanging from the branch of a tree near the Carmarthen station, somewhere in Wales.

It was here, in that small town, that Frederic Elmond had once lived. And it was in Carmarthen's muggle orphanage that this old wizard once upon a time, had seen some strange kid, who apparently was performing unusual magical feats without the use of a wand. That deeply concerned this wizard, so he sought to meet with this strange child, and upon coming across him, he realized that he was a mute, underdeveloped magically child, who had no chances of being noticed by the magical authorities. So it was Frederic Elmond who had taken it upon himself to talk with the old acquaintance of his father, Gustavus Vane, the chief of Ministry Registers, to ask him, to add this poor child to Hogwarts student list, so this poor child could receive some proper magical education.

Of course, no such person as Frederic Elmond had ever existed, for he and his story was just that: a rather general idea of the story, which Harry planted in the mind of Gustavus Vane, to support his mental suggestion. A story told to evoke helpful emotions, and then to be forgotten, remembered only vaguely, as something the subject had once experienced. And now, if his abilities were to be trusted, Vane would have sent the letter to this rather isolated place, and he would be receiving it the next evening, on the third of August. He would have plenty of time to handle both - the issue of concealing his rather monstrous appearance and the issue of forging in much more detailed way, the story of the new student's life as well as learning the basics of the sign language. But now, he would be making a visit to one of his favorite hideaways in this region.

The "New Carmarthen" was a complex of caves, placed around the old roman castle which stood in the town. These caves were a last resting place for many of the oldest buildings in the whole Wales. The structures stood almost unchanged and untouched since the the time of the middle ages, when they were buried under the ground by some powerful magic spell, centuries ago. Amongst these old walls, Harry felt safe and secure, for no being other than himself ever had dared to enter these tunnels. It was a place where he could rest, and exercise without the risk of anyone witnessing him. So it was a very eager Harry Potter that have jumped down from his observatory place on a tree, and started running quickly and silently as a wild animal, in the direction of the entrance to the system of tunnels. Unfortunately, the grotto by which one entered those tunnels, was rather far away from his current position, and he would have to be quick to manage to get there before the sunrise. That was, because the route to the entrance, led through rather populated areas. So he had to be very cautious and try to escape anyone's notice, for anyone witnessing him here, in this rather heavily populated by wizards area, would surely recognize him as "the dangerous Dark Lord". And that would certainly not mean well for his chances of remaining alive long enough, to get the letter.

His resolve to not get noticed being very firm, Harry focused for a moment, and once again his eyes flashed bright blue from under his hood. His running pace somewhat slowed, his silhouette slightly trembling under his robes as if from some pain, but he continued running as if almost nothing had changed. But changes became visible, when he threw the hood of his robe away, and two small horizontal slits could be seen, placed on the pale skin on the back of his head. And anyone observing this, would feel deeply disturbed, when both of them opened, exposing two, almost identical eyes, which now began to whirl around, independent on each other, looking for any sign of coming danger.

"_And while they may not look very handsomely, they surely fulfill their function just right_." thought young Harry. "_And it is one of a few abilities that look as something in a way similar to the human transfiguration. It may come in handy if in Hogwarts they would like us to present our skills in that subject_"

Jumping over a very familiar looking, dead tree trunk, Harry upon landing safely, turned right. There, a small path led into short underground passage, which unfortunately led into more populated parts of the town. He crawled swiftly through it, and when he came out of the second end, he quickly had to dive back into the hole. Few approaching voices could be heard, accompanied by the loud sound of footsteps. The voices were singing, apparently something that was supposed be a drinking song, but judging by the voices it was sung as an after-drinking song. Harry had to wait until three drunks were out of the hearing range, before coming out and continuing his run, still troubled by the fact, that most likely, he was going to get caught. But as the more rational part of his mind kept telling him, it was of no use to worry about it now, for it could only cause him to loose his focus. So he ran, trying to keep his composure, hiding whenever he came upon some people, and trying to keep out of the range of most alarming charms,he could see with his "special sight", laid upon wizards' houses.

One time, he had almost been discovered when some old man came from around the corner of a rather heavily warded house, and started to walk in his direction. He escaped only by falling on the ground, and hiding in a high grass, while causing some birds he found nearby, to attract man's attention, while he crawled around the man's abode. Tired and stressed, after several hours of sneaking, done to cover the distance of only a few miles, he finally came to the point after which it would be much easier to travel. After jumping down, from the roof of a shakily looking, wooden workshop, on which he had to wait until some woman had thrown away the waste, he crossed the small grove that grew nearby, and came to a halt, as the border of the great forest became visible in the distance. He stood there panting slightly, and while the eyes on the back of his head still scanned the premises behind him, his normal eyes focused on the edge of the opposite forest. Small flashes of a blue light could be seen, reflecting on the wet leaves of the oaks and beeches of which the forest was composed. He knew, that the small flying lanterns were Will-o'-the-wisps, that ruled in the forest, always eager to lead some unsuspecting muggles deeper into the forest, where their screams could not be heard, while they were immolated alive.

Fortunately for him, these deathly fairies were not interested in causing him any harm, for they "thought" he was one of the other dark fairies, that often visited these woods. So, after crossing the border of this forest he could be sure that he was relatively safe, even from wizards, who Will-o'-the-wisps treated no better than muggles. Of course, even wizard's children knew of the way of banishing these fairies, but that made them not that much eager to do so, especially in the dead of the night. He was about to move to the safety of the Blue Forest, when some silent voice from above him whispered:

"_Who do we have here, my little snake carcass?"_

* * *

The difficulty of it all, lied in finding a nettle. Really it was that simple – for some reason, these "oh so dangerous" flaming balls of blue light, from which the Blue Forest had gotten its name, were deeply afraid of this nasty plant. So, after arriving here just a few days ago, she had a full stock of it, expecting, that it would come in handy if she would like to go to visit one of the most beautiful places around here. A place she had fallen in love with, the first time she had seen it. Of course her aunt wouldn't be a very happy woman if she discovered that her niece was disregarding her rules, apparently dictated for her own safety. But honestly, she knew what she was doing and she was in no danger at all. Besides, if her aunt would from time to time leave her own dwellings and see how very beautiful were some parts of her land, she would certainly allow it. But seeing as her aunt was rather adamant on spending the rest of her life, closed in her house with a band of long eared rodents, and therefore not very supportive of that idea, Romilda had to pretend she was going somewhere else. She said that she was going to wander around and try to find some berries to eat, in a rather remote garden. But actually, dressed in a modest, forest green t-shirt, and jeans cutoffs, holding a nettle in one hand, and her wand in the other, while it was still bright, she crossed the part of the Blue Forest and came out, at the entirely different part of the world, apparently not confused by the sight that was before her. For instead of coming into some meadow, as one would expect in the middle of a forest, she came out to see the tons of open space, reaching to the horizon. She knew that these fields were not on any map, apparently contained by some magic in the confines of the forest. She turned around to reassure herself, and sure enough, behind her, a little translucent, but still visible, was the border of the forest. She contently turned in the direction of the open space, to gaze at that beautiful view. 

The still bright sun, shined from above, showing the full beauty of this area. The ground was almost completely covered by everywhere present colonies of the blue heather, growing on the stone formations, on the small hills, and coming almost to her feet, at the edge of a forest. It was the calming aura of this place that allowed her to fully understand and appreciate the encouraging advice given her by aunt Frieda. Her mind now at peace, she allowed herself to slowly wade forward through beautifully smelling plants, slipping her bare feet through the flowers. She came to her favorite, star shaped rock formation, the size of an elephant, and slowly climbed on it, admiring the view which unfolded before her. The gentle wind moved the white clouds lazily across the blue sky, while causing the fields of flowers before her, to dance together.

"_How could you feel worried in that kind of place. Just being here, takes all of your fears and problems away_." - she wondered.

Her mind was at peace, and the problems she was worrying about a few hours ago, now were something unimportant and long forgotten. It wasn't long before the soft, warm wind and a fresh scent of heather, had lulled her to sleep.

The sun shined even brighter and the rush of the wind tangled her long hair. She was six years old, running across the fields of her aunt's property, being chased by the wind and by the aunt herself on her own, old styled and very slow broomstick. She was laughing loudly, happy that she was the one winning the game of tag. Jumping over the fence seemed as something that she could easily do. Her small legs trembled with effort, as she gathered all her strength to jump over the barrier. She heard her aunt shout wildly. She was about to ask why for the love of Merlin, her mother's sister had resolved to screech so loudly on such a beautiful day, when something weird had happened. She felt no ground under her feet. She looked under her feet and saw a very high hill, from which she was currently falling. Rolling down the hill, hurting her small body, over the stones sticking out of the ground. She felt that even her head was hurt a little by the conctant banging. At last, after rolling for what seemed an eternity, she had slowed and finally stopped, at the base of the hill. Her aunt now looking at her with a face as white as a sheet of paper, calling her louder, and louder. She wasn't interested in listening to her, she just wanted to sleep so badly now, so she could play with her aunt later. She was about to tell her aunt that, when something warm slowly oozed from her head, adding to the feeling of sleepiness. But that insistent voice of her aunt was preventing her from falling asleep. Her young body protested with a loud groan, but the voice still was shouting. She wanted to sleep so badly, and the voice could wait a little, she resolved, slowly falling into some dark place. But then, a very different, surely not her voice, had sounded, as if speaking right from her own mind:

"_It's time to wake up, little one_"

So she woke up. Rising from the cold and wet stone, she noticed it was dark, and even more strangely the weather in this magically contained realm, seemed to worsen. Dark, storm clouds were slowly gliding through the night sky, showering this usually calm place with showers of very cold rain, and the sound of a distant thunder has suddenly been joined by the howl of a very strong wind. The only source of light was a feebly shining moon, joined from time to time by the flash of a lightning. It frightened her greatly, because this realm of serenity was always calm, and no matter what weather conditions were outside, here, it was always sunny and warm. So, now desperate to find a cause of this disturbance, she began to wildly turn around, checking what could possibly be the reason of such a change. And, she had found the reason quick enough, for he was slowly walking in her direction, exiting from the forest.

* * *

The beam of the yellowish light hit the place he was standing in. Now, if he was more of a experienced dueling master when it came to dueling with wizards, he could have proudly said that it was the place he was standing in mere seconds before, and now after dodging the first spell, he was already attacking from another position. But, alas it wasn't the case. The beam hit him straight in the head, and luckily instead of causing any kind of lethal damage, had attacked his most precious tool. He felt as if every corridor in his mind was filled with liquid fire, so growling and wheezing from the pain he had fallen on the ground. Through his pain filled mind, rolled a quick thought: 

"_Either he knows what I am, and where my strengths lie, or he's just lucky in his choice of spells_..."

However there was no time for more reflexions, as another beam of light came from the direction of his opponent, who now was behind Potter's back. Harry had to use some of his power to help lift himself from the ground quickly enough to avoid the second spell, which this time hit the ground he was lying on, just seconds before, causing it to explode in the silent poof. While being raised by the invisible force, Harry turned in mid-air, and now was facing his opponent. Who turned out to be some deeply-middle aged wizard, with a rather nasty scowl that adorned his face, which was marred with many deep scars. His tangled, dirty blond hair, hiding a big part of his face, but not being able to hide the look of pure hate in his brown eyes. The man raised his wand again, and furiously cast some brownish spell, that when neared Harry, changed into the swarm of many nasty looking daggers. Some of them Harry reflected with the small explosion of air particles, he had caused in front of himself, and some more he has dodged. Those who didn't hit their target disappearing in a puff of purple smoke. But one of them had been not affected by both actions, and embedded itself to its hilt in Harry's right shoulder.

Harry had to force himself not to scream, firstly – he reasoned with himself – because it would give that bastard some satisfaction, and secondly it could attract someone from nearby houses. Younger of the Potter brothers had to duck another nasty looking ray, which turned out to be a bone breaking spell, for when it hit the branch in the grove behind, a loud snap could be heard. After that he was not very eager to give his opponent another chance to come up with something even nastier, so he focused for a while, and touching the hilt of the dagger he abruptly ripped it from his shoulder, throwing it with a practiced accuracy in the direction of the wizard. The man smiled, apparently not impressed by such a feat, and slowed down the dagger with his wand allowing it to be caught with his left hand. Which very quickly turned out to be a mistake, when the man, shouting fiercely, as the heated, to the brink of melting, metal dagger burned his hand, threw it into some tree, upon hitting which, the weapon disappeared. Harry encouraged the particles of the conjured weapon, to speed up their movements, causing it to heat up while he was taking it out of his wound, allowing it to cauterize the injury, and later using it as a cleaver weapon. The wizard, shaking his left hand in pain, spoke for the second time, this time seething through his teeth:

"_I don't know how you managed to survive you bastard, but be sure that even if I won't be able to beat you, many more will come, who will do just tha_t"

And with that, he raised his wand arm into the sky, with a clear desire to shoot some kind of flashy message that could be seen from miles away. That could not be allowed. Harry focused, and looked into man's eyes, which was done with no problem at all, seeing as the man was glaring at him with anger. And through this eyes he entered.

He wasn't a Legilimens, so he saw no reason for following the Legilimency-Occlumency path. Wizards, when in need of using mind arts, used one, and only one of the brain natural routes to perform the feats connected with those arts. Legilimens attacked only through that route, and Occlumens defended only that route. Those were the only routes of the mind, that were capable of undergoing the influence of greater amounts of magic, with relatively no harm. So only in those two routes wizard's magic could be pumped into, either to attack or to defend. But Harry being no magic user, had a little different reservoir of places to attack, being able to choose from thousands of thousands of routes entering the wizard's mind. So going in was just as easy as choosing any pair of doors beside the locked one. And now that he came into the wizard's mind he could do much, much more.

The old wizard had suddenly found his right hand not responding to his will. Against his wishes, the hand opened, letting the long wand fall onto the ground. The look of hatred on wizard's face deepened, and Harry felt it, as a white hot, burning poker, poked into the side of his mental probe. It was not a very pleasant feeling, but Harry decided to bear with it for a while. His eyes flashed once more, as he withdrew his probe from the mind of this hostile wizard, and rushed with it, through his own mind, to push one of his buttons. A sudden slam of a very strong force had rammed into the wizard, throwing him at least ten feet back. He groaned when he hit the ground, but beside that he looked as if nothing that serious happened to him. He slowly began to rise on his feet. When he again was standing, he tried to wandlessly summon his wand, but it remained still on the ground, held there by Harry's vice like mental grip. The wizard tried to do this again, and Harry smiled inwardly at the stupidity of the man.

That was before, from his second wand, he shot out another spell in Harry's direction. The beam had grazed the edge of Harry's robes, and it was only thanks to the eyes on the back of his head, that he escaped being crushed by the tree, which was cut down by the spell's cutting power. Harry dodged to the right, allowing the tree to slam into the ground. Resolving to, from now on take this old fellow seriously, he used his probe to forcefully break away some of the larger tree branches, and wielding them at distance, attack the wizard with them. The man was trying to cast another spell, while running away from these overgrown clubs, when one of them had hit the wizard in his left arm, while the other hit him in his right knee, causing him to double over with pain. Another sweeping movement, hit the man's knees from behind, removing his legs from under him, and causing him to tumble to the ground, still holding onto his second wand.

"_It won't do any good if he uses it, I think_" Thought Harry, using the branches to hold the man down, restricting his movements. With one snap of his mental probe, he snapped both wands in half, sending sparkles flying around, some of them starting small fires on the summer grass. Throwing away the branches, Harry lifted the man by his leg, allowing him to hang upside down, facing him, his face for some reason expressing even more hate.

"_Why should he be angry? It was him who started all this, got beaten and now he can't accept this. He's lucky I'm not the one who's angry _" mused Harry grimly.

The man was rather unlucky, that he had no chance to call for help, for while Harry could handle an alone wizard from time to time, meeting greater numbers of them and coming alive from it ... well it wasn't as if he had any experience with that, but mainly because he avoided greater groups of wizards. So allowing himself to again look in the man's eyes, he analogically began to look around in the man's mind, searching for all memories of their meeting, and erasing them. Completely erasing someone's memories was not something that was to be taken lightly, for it could also be as dangerous to the eraser as to the one whose memory was erased. So Harry took his time, still listening carefully for any sounds that could announce anyone coming. When the process was completed, he lifted now unconscious man with his mental force, and placed him near the fallen tree. With some luck, the man would think that he was hit by a falling tree. But if that mystification was to be successful, Harry had to erase the burn he had caused on the man's left hand. It was here, when the process became nasty and complicated.

He laid his left hand on the man's left hand, and focused. Moving his probe through appropriate tunnels in his mind, he had found a way to connect both his and the man's nerve systems. Traveling into wizard's system, he began to wander around, gathering the extent of damage that his hot dagger had caused. Slowly the burn marks on the attacker's palm began to disappear, as he was erasing them. When all the evidence was removed from the palm of his opponent, he had to put it somewhere else, so he clenched his teeth, as the sum of all the pain caused by the burn, transferred to his nerve system. Nasty looking burn mark appeared on his own left palm, but he cared nothing for it. His rather quick metabolism, when put into self regenerating purpose, could handle this issue rather fast, when supplied with enough time to work on that. What mattered now, was the fact that the wizard lying in front of him, could be in no way used as a witness, of what had happened here. But the scene of their fight could.

So it was with serenity and focus that the young Potter had lifted two broken wands lying on the ground, put them in his pocket, where with little difficulty, he had mended them, just by focusing on the original structure of both the wand and the core, before leaving them near the prone form of the man. He also used his mental probe to roughen up the clean cut inflicted on a tree, so it could be taken for a natural occurrence, and took his time to spot and erase every burned spot on the grass. After doing that Harry left the scene quickly, entering into the Blue Forest.

And it was with great surprise and shock that the young Potter had found, that when he came out of the wood and onto the Blue Moor, the magically enchanted fairy lands, used as meeting place for their motleys, he encountered a teenage, rather... familiar looking, witch. A witch who was strangely, fast asleep on one of the fairies' altar, surrounded by the group of five tall, willowy silhouettes, each holding a long, jagged knife in its hand. Harry could hear the song of old days, sang by those dark fey in a bright voices, as if telling the story:

_ O who rides by night thro' the woodland so wild?_

_ It is the fond father embracing his child;_

_ And close the boy nestles within his loved arm,_

_To hold himself fast, and to keep himself warm._

Harry once again looked at the girl. Was she stupid? Coming into such place with nothing but a one nettle to scare away the Will-o'-the-Wisps? And yet strangely enough her face seemed so .. familiar, as if they have met before. The dark eyes, the slightly rounded face with full cheeks, the soft sound of a sleeping child ...

A sleeping child...

_He was traveling through the dark halls of the New Carmarthen, seeking another entrance, that could be used in times of emergency. His eyes were as used to the dark conditions of this place, as the eyes of any other wild, night hunting animal. It was his territory, and he longed for it to be safe, so constantly trying to familiarize himself with all the routes, was something natural. As through the thick mist he had heard the words spoken:_

_"O father, see yonder! see yonder!" he says;_

_"My boy, upon what dost thou fearfully gaze?"_

_ "O, 'tis the Erl-King with his crown and his shroud."_

_"No, my son, it is but a dark wreath of the cloud."_

_He has just been checking one of the tunnels leading upwards, in hopes of discovering that it could be used as a second entrance, when he heard a scream just above his head. He quickly hurried away, scared that someone may have been waiting at the other end of the tunnel. From somewhere a voice had sounded, as if coming from another world:_

_"O come and go with me, thou loveliest child;_

_ By many a gay sport shall thy time be beguiled;_

_My mother keeps for thee many a fair toy,_

_ And many a fine flower shall she pluck for my boy."_

_His knees were scrapped painfully from crawling so fast, but he could not care less. His primal instinct has taken over, giving him the strength to run and to ignore pain. In one brief moment of clarity he dared to look behind, and saw nothing alarming. But nonetheless he was not in the mood to go investigate. He was about to run along, when the ceiling of this small tunnel has breached, exposing him to bright sunlight. From the outside a choir of voices could be heard singing:_

_"O father, my father, and did you not hear_

_ The Erl-King whisper so low in my ear?"_

_ "Be still, my heart's darling -- my child, be at ease;_

_ It was but the wild blast as it sung thro' the trees._"

_He had frozen in place, not willing to move, in hopes that he would not be discovered, but when nothing happened for a longer moment, he braced himself and looked over his dust covered shoulder. The hole, which appeared in the ceiling was rather big, at least big enough for a seven year old Harry to stick his head out. And against both the instinct and the reason screaming at him, he did just that, wanting to hear these voices again_:

_"O wilt thou go with me, thou loveliest boy?_

_ My daughter shall tend thee with care and with joy;_

_ She shall bear thee so lightly thro' wet and thro' wild,_

_And press thee, and kiss thee, and sing to my child."_

_The small, bald head of little Harry, looked really out of place, sticking carefully out of the hole, at the base of the rather big hill, under which part of the cave was buried. He could be easily mistaken for some albino gnome. Little Potter looked carefully around, noticing soon enough, that the source of the voice was coming, from the old woman who was screaming at the top of her lungs, while descending quickly from the hill. Harry was about to hide, when he noticed the cause of woman's distress. Almost next to him lied a very pale looking small girl, with a dark hair, which now was bloodied extensively, by the blood slowly seeping from great wound on the girl's head. The girl had her eyes closed, only her lips moved silently, in rhythm with the words of a strange song:_

_"O father, my father, and saw you not plain_

_The Erl-King's pale daughter glide past thro' the rain?"_

_"Oh yes, my loved treasure, I knew it full soon;_

_It was the grey willow that danced to the moon."_

_The girl suddenly opened her eyes slightly, looking straight at Harry. Her eyes were not focused, as if she wasn't seeing clearly what she was looking at, but nonetheless Harry ceased to breath at this moment. The girl's dark eyes were flooded with blood, and she slowly started to close them. Her lips were not moving, but from some otherworldly source, the next words came:_

_"O come and go with me, no longer delay,_

_ Or else, silly child, I will drag thee away."_

_ "O father! O father! now, now, keep your hold,_

_ The Erl-King has seized me -- his grasp is so cold!"_

_Harry realized that something wasn't right. He remembered, that he once had been here before. He helped the girl, he had somehow had stopped the bleeding, by slowing the flow of her blood, he had escaped safely, after quickly sealing the hole with some earth. He was sixteen, not seven. So why he was relieving this memory? And where he was now? Why he was asking all these questions? Why he wasn't acting. Why..._

A sleeping child ...

His eyes opened, his mind breaking free from the song's power. He saw that the group of Erlkonigs was coming closer, and closer to the sleeping girl, still holding their knifes, this time raised very high in the air, as if they were about to strike. The last stanza of the song was sang by the dark figures:

_ Sore trembled the father; he spurr'd thro' the wild,_

_Clasping close to his bosom his shuddering child;_

_ He reaches his dwelling in doubt and in dread,_

_ But, clasp'd to his bosom, the infant was ..._

"_It's time to wake up, little one_" Harry said.

The movement of his lips did not produce any sound, that could be heard with human ears. But nevertheless the teenage witch, holding her wand with one hand, and the now useless nettle with the other, woke up and started to frantically look around. Apparently she couldn't notice the still approaching fey, so Harry had to act fast, or else the girl would be slain by the bloodthirsty creatures. He started to walk, and sure enough, his movement had captured girl's attention.

The teenager quickly jumped from the rock, ignoring the pain it surely must have caused her, and started to run, still not aware of the dreadful presence of the Erlkonigs. The magical creatures, not expecting that turn of events, stood there for a moment in shock, before running after their prey. Harry, on impulse started running after them, in hopes of rescuing the girl, who quite seriously thought that it was her he was after. So while his legs carried him after the five fairies, his mind was whirling with activity. The right button was pushed, and one of the fairies fell on the ground, as his mind was assaulted with a high pitched voice, placed right into his brain. Small streams of blood could be seen coming out of the creature's pointed ears as Harry passed by it. The remaining four of the fairies divided, with two of them still chasing the girl, and the other two returning to fight the cause of their failure.

One of the fairies aimed for Harry's wounded shoulder, while the other was trying to hit the artery at the back of his leg. Harry, again had to resort to splitting his probe, to handle this situation. The screech in his mind was somewhat dulled this time, as he was getting used to hearing it on a day to day basis. One of his probes, Harry directed into the long forgotten corridor in his mind. Very curvy and tight passages required perfect maneuvering, and as the situation called for the quick response, Harry had to somehow accommodate both of these facts. He almost was too late in pressing the button, but he somehow managed to do just that, sending an information through his own body, to the targeted areas' skin cells, causing them to harden their structure, using body's carbon supply, allowing them to deflect both hits. He only had to clench his teeth, at this rather non pleasant feeling of metal scraping his hardened skin.

The second probe went into wider, and much more explored route. Harry closed his eyes, as he let his heartbeat reverberate in hi inner ear as if it was the single, most powerful source of power, allowing it to become a powerful pulse that had shaken the surrounding area with a forceful shocking waves, battering badly the bodies of the two creatures. Harry's heart was in no good shape after that feat, and it fluttered wildly, and irregularly, but young Potter forced this organ to behave in more normal way, using his will to command his muscles to relax. And while that made him feel only a bit better, it was enough for him to continue his chase, after the remaining two fey, ignoring the fact, that at the back of his neck, another mark had appeared, looking as if his skin had aged, independent on the rest of his body.

Commanding his legs to move faster, as the two Erlkonigs were closing the distance between them and running girl, Harry had to dismiss the effects of his helpful second set of eyes, allowing them to close, and to merge slowly with his skull, causing the weave of nausea to come over him.

"_But the concentration required to keep them in place, would be needed for something else._" he reasoned, while trying to keep his strides steady and fast at the same moment, distracting the pain and tiredness with that thought.

One of the two Erlkonigs was about to catch the girl, when he felt horrid cramp in the muscles of his lower limbs. He tried to continue running, but it was simply impossible, as the pain in his legs had caused him to tumble and fall on the ground, at the feet of his still running companion. The second fey would in fact be able to jump over his fallen comrade and continue his chase, if a sudden force that had suddenly twisted a portion of the turf under his foot, hadn't appeared, causing him to run into his companion, and fall on him.

Harry, leaving behind the angered and battered motley of Erlkonigs continued his chase, despite being mentally exhausted, still smiling inwardly. He wasn't afraid that the fey would come again – all faeries were bound to certain rules, and one of this rules was the rule of the fist, so whoever won the prize kept it. And Harry's "prize" was not that far away. Soon enough he reached the girl, who, rather not used to such a long races, slowed down and panted fearfully, covering her face, from what she thought was a certain death. It was only a matter of time, before exhausted and scared she would stop running. And sure enough, after five more minutes of this strange charade the girl had finally halted her run, and sobbing heavily fell on the ground. Harry just let her cry, amazed by the amount of tears the girls body could contain. However after ten minutes of weeping, and the girl showing no sign of stopping, Harry resolved to try a different approach. He crouched near the girl, ignoring the protest in his muscles, and using the method that once before had proved fruitful, used his lips to slowly ask the question:

"_Are you done yet?_"

* * *

The voice had yet again sounded in her mind, this time asking a question that she had feared the most.It could mean only one thing - he grew bored with this game and was about to kill her, and she wouldn't be able to talk with her mom and dad ever again. Mere thought, of that happening, caused her to spill even more tears. The voice, this time with a tint of anger in it, said: 

"_Ow ... stop crying you ... or else I will really kill you._"

That caused her to suppress another sob that was coming. If she could live for some more, she would comply. Slowly raising her head, she dared a look at the subject of her terror. The hard look on his face hadn't actually improved her mood, but seeing as he was not doing anything to cause her any harm, she calmed a little, or at least as much as one could calm in the presence of the Dark Lord. She dared a look into his eyes, and became enchanted with those two electric blue orbs. Meeting his gaze proved to be rather easy, quite contrary to what her father had told her, of the old days. His tales were telling a story of anger-fueled warlock who rose to power, allowing no one to get close to him, but looking into those eyes, she though she had seen something... calling. Something that desperately wanted to be found, something...

She drowned in this eyes, as something had pulled her beneath the surface.

She found herself standing above the body of some young girl. It was a sunny, beautiful day, albeit devoid of calmness as the screams of some woman pierced the air. She willed herself to look at the small body at her feet, and gasped in surprise. For it was herself, six years old, lying in the pool of her own blood, slowly dying. She remembered that event. It was that day, when she received that scar on the back of her head, while her fall cracked her skull open. Both her parents and her aunt had no idea, how it was possible for her to survive, and she thanked whatever power that did this. The reality around her began to get flooded by a weave of the red color, as the blood filled the eyes of her younger self. She began to wonder why Voldemort forced her to relieve that awful memory, when something that she could not possibly remember happened. A hole suddenly opened in the ground, and after a moment, while her aunt was still running to her, a small head poked out of the hole. Romilda gasped – it was the miniature of Voldemort that was peeking at her dying self, from the hole in the ground. She could clearly see the fright in the small creatures eyes, and then the small monster lifted his arm, as if trying to reach her. Slowly, the flow of the blood from her wounds, could be seen diminishing,and the eyes of the older Romilda widened considerably. And when her aunt had finally reached her, the small Voldemort disappeared under the ground, sealing the hole from inside. She watched as her aunt screamed even more when she saw the extent of damage done to her niece. A warm tear slided down her cheek, at the thought of her aunt caring personality, and not being able to meet her ever again. She was about to start crying anew, when a voice sounded behind her back.

"_I wouldn't advise doing that_"

She jumped around, to see the grown up Voldemort, this time devoid of any of his injuries, standing in the broad light, next to her aunt who was currently buzzing around her younger self. It had to be a memory, because her aunt wasn't even aware of anyone's presence around the scene of the accident. Romilda braved herself, and asked, completely disregarding the horrid numbness that threatened to overcome her:

"_Why are you showing me this? Do you want me to believe that it was you who saved me? Do you want to manipulate me in some wicked way_?"

He just stared at her. But moment later, as if an idea came to his mind, he responded, this time speaking normally, in his rather weird, cold and devoid of any emotions voice:

"_Is that what you think ? Why do you think, that I could be interested in doing such thing? I, my dear, have just shown you the truth, and you know it, deep in you heart. For all your effort, that you have put into discerning what happened here, you couldn't find one thing that was out of place haven't you? Both you and I know that these events are true and that they really had happened. The question is, what you will do about it?_"

Romilda froze. He was right, and for some reason she felt scared, that someone could know her thoughts that well. But on the other hand, the implication of his last question were not to her liking.

"_Are you really suggesting that I have some kind of debt for you, to repay? Or maybe you want to use me, to serve you? Because it is best if you know it, at this moment, Mr. Voldemort"_ – she spat his name – "_that I am not going to do it!"_

Her stubborn streak coul be now fully seen, as she looked her tormentor in the eye. Unexpectedly, the serpentine figure beside her sighed, and spoke in a silent voice:

"_I suppose there is no way of convincing you, that I am not Voldemort?_"

The audacity of that question has shaken her.

"_Do you really think that I am that stupid?_"

"_Well, would Voldemort be having that kind of discussion with you at all?_"

She wanted to retort with some blasphemous word directed at the snake man, when it really came to her. She thought for a while, taking her time to muse over that question, watching as medi-wizards were apparating all around, taking her fallen form with her, as well as the exhausted form of her aunt. After some time she turned back to her interlocutor, eyeing him up and down, before saying:

"_That could be a trap, or a new way of tricking people, devised by Voldemort to allure more followers_!"

The snake man shook his head with a look of pity on his face, before saying:

"_And would you care, to once again rethink that theory, before it occurs to you that it is utterly stupid?_"

She almost smiled. She almost smiled at something - Voldemort! - the bane of the numerous wizards, have just said! Either that meant that she was utterly and completely insane, or that it was not Voldemort she was talking with. She decided that for the time being, she would accept the second theory as a fact. Still being curious she asked:

"_Then what are you?_" She was too interested in the answer, to notice, that his face showed signs of not agreeing with being referred to as a thing. He only answered vaguely:

"_I am some..thing different_"


End file.
